


If A Pirate I Must Be

by sleepylotus



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M, post awe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-18 05:13:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 50,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8150288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepylotus/pseuds/sleepylotus
Summary: 10+ years post AWE, AU. When Sir James Norrington, Scourge of Piracy and First Royal Governor of the Bahamas, catches the Pirate King Elizabeth Swann in his net, he finds his loyalties torn asunder. He has been charged with the task of pardoning or hanging the pirates of New Providence. Elizabeth refuses the former option, and James refuses the latter. The two leaders of men engage in a dangerous game of wills, and James is tested at every turn when the only woman he ever loved also proves to be his greatest adversary. Norribeth & COMPLETE!





	1. I. A Nightmare & A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I. This is not a Black Sails crossover, though it does deal with historical events that are portrayed in the show. You can google Woodes Rogers and the Bahamas if you’re curious about the real history, but I will certainly explain in context what’s going on.  
> II. I stole the title from a wonderful book about Black Bart. I do recommend it. But it has nothing to do with this fic, I just found it piratically poetic.  
> III. I’ve been sitting on this for a while but I wanted to finish my other Norribeth fic first before diving into this too hard. As I am posting this the very same day as the finish of “Destinies Entwined”, you can see I am quite excited about this! :D I hope you enjoy!

# I. A Nightmare & A Dream

 

The green-eyed gentleman seated at Mr. Christopher Pike’s table had been known by many names over the years. Midshipman, Lieutenant, Master and Commander, Post-Captain, and Commodore in His Majesty’s Royal Navy. Buccaneers and law-abiding citizens alike once labeled him as the Scourge of Piracy in the Caribbean. Many years later, after a most honorable discharge from the service with highest honors, he’d been dubbed Sir and Civilian in nearly the same breath. It did not sit easily with a man so accustomed to the rigors of duty, no matter how jaded he’d become, so when an enticing offer came from Parliament he seized upon the chance to assume the title of Sir James Norrington, first Royal Governor of the Bahamas.

At that moment, Sir James was taking a well-earned moment of respite from the rigors of reforming New Providence Island, accepting an invitation to afternoon tea at the inland domicile of his friend Mr. Pike. They sat in the shady garden and spoke of literature, music, and the price of sugar, the thing that would render this island a success if her Governor could manage to tame its unruly coastal inhabitants.

The clatter of hooves on cobblestones approaching paused their discourse, and James was quite taken aback as soon after the maid showed in his very own nephew and lieutenant, Sheridan Norrington, who was red in the face from the merciless sun and wide eyed from some unknown exhilaration. “Uncle James!” he wheezed, gasping for breath from his race to the house. “You must come…back to town…”

“Good God, man, spit it out,” encouraged the Governor in his characteristic deadpan, exasperated by the excitable young man. Despite his cool façade, James feared the worst. A riot? An uprising of the convict laborers at the fort? Had the prisoners escaped? A thousand unlikely but entirely possible disasters raced through James' mind, but he _never_ could have guessed what Sheridan said next.

“It’s the King,” Sheridan managed, bending over to lean on his thighs. “She’s _here_.”

The sound of James’ teacup shattering upon the ground echoed through the garden like a shot. “Are you certain?” he asked gravely, annoyed to find his usually steady hands suddenly would _not_ stop shaking.

“Never more so,” rasped Sheridan, standing upright. “And if you don’t come now I fear Fitzwilliam will kill her. He wouldn’t listen to me—”

The rest of Sheridan’s words were lost as James leapt to his feet as though his chair were on fire, and after a hasty apology to his host, dashed out to the stables for his horse.

 

**XXX**

 

Sir James had a weakness for a fine horse, and never had he been so grateful to have as fast a mount as money could buy beneath him that day. Sheridan followed as close behind as he could, but his own horse had already been put through its paces on the ride to Mr. Pike’s inland abode and could not pace James’ fresher steed in the Bahamian heat.

Though it was perfectly unseemly to appear so frantic, Governor Norrington barreled through the middle of town and past the gates of the fort, dismounting with the agility of a man a decade his junior. “Where is she?” he demanded of Sergeant Marshall, the first marine to reluctantly siddle his way. Everyone looked quite uncomfortable at their post, like naughty children caught plucking the wings from a fly. The Governor had a wild look in his flashing green eyes, as though he was ready to execute anyone on the spot who so much as looked at him askance.

“This way, sir.”

James pointed at five more Marines, signaling for them to follow.

They passed through a corridor and into the bowels of the fort, where the holding cells were located. Wretched laughter drifted down the halls, and the echo of a voice James had not heard in more than a decade. “Is that all you’ve got? God, in my day they only let _real_ _men_ put on the blue, and far handsomer than the likes of you, you toad-eyed son of a bitch.”

A sharp crack travelled down the corridor, and despite the distance it was a thing any man who had ever witnessed a flogging before the mast could not mistake. James quickened his pace, and before he knew it he was running.

There was another crack, and more defiant banter. “ _Please_ , a little to the left, it _tickles_.”

Another crack, and this time she groaned, a sound of pain but not _quite_ a scream.

“What the _devil_ is going on here?” demanded James, bursting in on the scene.

A young lieutenant clasped a cat-o-nine in hand, arm reared for another strike. James wrested the whip from the lad’s hands, and narrowly resisted the urge to beat the boy across the face with it. But he had not come so far by giving in to his first urges in a crisis, no matter how tempting.

The lieutenant did rather resemble a toad, if one was generous in one’s assessment.

A woman was shackled to the gratings of a cell, the back of her black shirt in tatters, blood pooling at her feet. A hank of golden hair had come loose from her queue, hiding her face, but James would have known the form of that lithe female body anywhere.

He saw it often enough in his dreams. Far too often to _ever_ forget.

James cast his eyes about the dimly lit room, until finally he found the true orchestrator of this beastly tableau: Captain Richard Fitzwilliam, with a look of barely-banked fury upon his terrible visage.

“Do you have shit in your ears?” demanded James, a barely banked fury thinly disguised by a cool façade, his course language the only indicator of his temper on edge. “I asked what do you think you’re doing? Your orders were to inform me _immediately_ if she was captured.”

“I lost fifty good men off Barbados thanks to this uppity little pirate bitch,” answered Fitzwilliam in his gravely voice without the slightest mind for rank or decorum. His father was high in the Admiralty, and he flaunted the advantage at every chance. “So she owes me fifty good lashes, for a _start_.”

James’ hands clenched hard upon the handle of the cat. He’d had problems with this man’s inconvenient temper before, but _this_ was unprecedented insubordination. If word of this cruelty got out they would have an uprising on their hands in a _trice_.

“That’s _King_ pirate bitch to you,” Elizabeth chimed raggedly, eliciting a hellish snarl from Fitzwilliam. The Captain’s hand went to his sword, and James ever so calmly drew his pistol, cocking the hammer.

The sound echoed through the cavernous chamber, filled with the promise of more violence. The room already bore the acrid iron tang of Elizabeth’s blood. “That will be quite enough,” said James. “You’ll be lucky if you _don’t_ see court martial for this, mark my words.”

“Court martial?” protested the Captain incredulously. “For whipping a _pirate_? She is a fugitive! A thief, a knave, and a _murderer_.”

“I was not aware you were qualified to preside over the sentencing of criminals in _my_ custody.”

Fitzwilliam huffed. “I’m as qualified as any doddering fool in a wig with a gavel. I know this devil of a woman, she’s slipped through my grasp for years, and a slow death is the _least_ she deserves.”

James appeared unimpressed, even if he very badly wanted to have Fitzwilliam tied to the grating and whipped himself. That too, he feared, may inspire an uprising of a different kind. He wondered if Weatherby Swann ever found himself walking such a precarious line in Port Royal, and reckoned the canny old man must have balanced his share, God rest his soul.

“That’s well and good, but aside from her _auxiliary_ titles, she is actually a member of the peerage, and can only be tried in Parliament. And even if she was _not_ , the fact that you would treat a prisoner, _a woman,_ this way says _novels_ about your character to me, Captain Fitzwilliam. I will _not_ forget this day.”

He gestured to the Marines behind them. “See the Captain and his Lieutenant to a cell where they may cool their tempers.”

Getting a hold of himself at last, Fitzwilliam bobbed his head in what barely passed for a bow. “As you like, sir.” He turned to go with the Marines without a fight, intent on preserving what little dignity he had left.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” called James, causing the Captain to freeze in his tracks.

“Sir?”

“The keys?”

Begrudgingly Fitzwilliam dug the iron ring of keys from his pocket, handing them to Sir James.

As he approached her James’ brow furrowed with worry; her back was a bloody mess, her shirt in _shreds._ Despite her brave words Elizabeth sagged against her bonds, her breathing erratic. Carefully he unlocked one of her manacles. “ _Dear God, I am so sorry_ ,” he whispered, and went to unlock the other. Perhaps a foolish thing to do with a notorious pirate in one’s custody, but he couldn’t imagine her getting far with her injuries.

Elizabeth’s hand clenched upon the bars of the cell, holding herself upright. Slowly she turned to face James, and the sight of her face after _so long_ hit him like a lead ball to the chest. She was still as beautiful as he remembered. Black kohl rimmed her large dark eyes, smudged from her recent misadventure. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth; someone had hit her, _hard._ In spite it all, a slow smile played over her full lips as she beheld her savior. “Why, James Norrington,” she said in a low voice. “You’ve finally found me.”

Her steadfast façade faltered, amusement turning to a grimace. She’d held out for Fitzwilliam and Lieutenant Toadface, but the ground below them was slick with her blood, and though she’d known worse injuries before, she didn’t think she’d _ever_ been in so much pain as at that moment. Pretty as the heroine in a vulgar novel, she fainted, crumpling into James’ waiting arms. The Governor stood flabbergasted, this woman he had loved for _so long_ finally in his grasp, his fondest dreams and his worst nightmares somehow come true all at once.


	2. Surrender or Die?

Despite the doctor’s best efforts the inevitable fever struck.

In a guestroom in James’ own home Elizabeth lay on her belly muttering with fever dreams, a healing salve and linen gauze spread over her wounds. James employed two nurses to watch over her at all times, changing her dressings and bathing her with cool cloths.

James came to sit by her side whenever he had the time, and even when he didn’t. He never really considered himself a man of God, but for the first time in a very long time, he held her hand in his and _prayed_.

There was a sickness here on this island that had already claimed half of the settlers who had come with him from England. He hoped she had been in these climes long enough to resist it in her weakened state.

How _often_ had he wondered after Elizabeth over these long years? Did she have enough to eat? Did her shipmates treat her well? Was she safe? Was she _happy_? If she finally met her demise _here_ in _his_ city, where he finally _should_ have been able to protect her…it was simply _unbearable._

Sir James had taken great pains to avoid the Caribbean for the last decade of his life, and those who knew him and many who didn’t were rather surprised to hear of his eager return to those pirate infested waters. There had been a matter of great embarrassment in Port Royal some years ago, a governor’s daughter who elected to fling herself from the ramparts of Fort Charles to run away with a blacksmith _and_ an infamous pirate rather than marry the then Commodore Norrington. That was what the gossips said, at any rate, and though at its heart it was essentially correct, James’ disappointment had not been _quite_ so dramatic.

Elizabeth Swann had not gone over the wall after Sparrow’s foiled hanging and swum out to meet the waiting Pearl. She had joined her cohorts later in the dead of night, and had done her then fiancé the courtesy of leaving an apologetic if not surprisingly sweet letter, for a woman-child so bent on breaking his heart in the pursuit of her own destiny.

He had gone after her, of course, but the Black Pearl truly was one of the fastest ships in the Caribbean, and with a wily Jack Sparrow at her helm there was little a lubberly first rate like the Dauntless could do. Once he’d had them in his sights, and through his glass he’d watched Elizabeth playfully blow him a kiss before the Pearl caught the wind and left the Dauntless in its wake. He had returned home to Governor Weatherby Swann months later, miserable and empty handed.

Then, as time went on and evidence of her piratical escapades mounted against her, James shifted from desperately wanting to find Elizabeth and bring her home, to _dreading_ such a victory, for it would only mean delivering her and her band of merry ruffians to a hangman’s noose. James had requested transfer to the Mediterranean, and had seen action against the Barbary corsairs, and even travelled so far as India in the continued conquest of the subcontinent.

Indeed, the detail that had interested James Norrington most in this new commission of re-taking the island of New Providence from pirates and settling the city of Nassau was that he would be armed not only with the power to execute, but to issue the King’s Pardon as well. Sir James was not the only one who had seen advancement through the course of his adventures. When word reached him one evening during an amicable supper with a comrade in arms off Gibraltar that Miss Elizabeth Swann had been named Pirate King of the Brethren of the Coast, and had taken a _direct_ hand in the demise of Lord Cutler Beckett and the Caribbean interests of the East India Trading Company, James had nearly fallen off his seat.

These azure blue waters were _her_ territory, and those who called themselves the Brethren proved to be insufferably hard eggs to crack. But after a year of hard labor, many hangings, numerous pardons, and the threat of Spanish invasion always hanging over head, somehow Sir James had managed to mold Nassau into a semi-respectable place for law abiding citizens to call home. Perhaps it was not yet a place he would have allowed his nieces to walk down the thoroughfare unguarded, but an average man could at last go about his business with no more than the usual watchful eye upon his purse, and return home with his throat intact.

Indeed, James would have been a liar, at least to himself, if he claimed he had come to this part of the world without a _single_ hope or design of laying eyes upon Elizabeth Swann once more. He had envisioned it more times than he could count, in myriad number of ways. Most fantastical but by far his favorite, he imagined her coming to him with all the poise of a monarch but tired of the constant toil and strife of the pirate life, lured by the tales of a new order and longing to be taken into the Crown’s fold once more.

More likely, he’d wondered if someday he would look out from his office window to find an armada of pirate ships looming on the horizon, a threat the likes of which she had offered Cutler Beckett: _leave us be or die._

But he never _ever_ would have dreamed _this_ outcome: the Pirate King in his very own guestroom, burning with malaise, her back a bloody butcher’s mess of torn meat. He wanted to call Fitzwilliam out to a duel, but the sad fact of the matter was that with his living connections (for James’ father had also been an Admiral, God rest his soul), Fitzwilliam was practically untouchable. Even worse, James _needed_ that firebrand bastard of a Captain here. Despite his temper and understandable dislike of pirates, he was a good seaman, an invaluable tactician, and intrinsic to defending this colony from the wolves of the waters that surrounded them. There were more than a few still at large, and the fort had a ways to go yet before it could be considered a true bastion of defense for Nassau.

Someday he would find a way to avenge Elizabeth’s mistreatment, but James feared it would be a long game with no immediate reprisals available to him.

Five days passed like this before Elizabeth finally opened her eyes. It was late in the evening, and James colored a little when she caught him half asleep with her hand clasped in his, her fingers reverently pressed to his cheek.

“ _James_?” she rasped, her throat dry as a desert.

He jolted up, surprised. He had not expected her to wake so soon, and in essence he was seated in her room unchaperoned, while she lay half naked with her whole back bare, _and_ he was practically _manhandling_ her person… But she would not let him reclaim his hand, her long fingers twining with his.

“Elizabeth.”

Despite it all, somehow she managed a weak smile for him.

“Either the conditions of English gaol have _vastly_ improved since last I sampled them, or you have done me a great service.”

James stared down at her, lips parted dumbly. Of all the time he’d spent envisioning this reunion, now he hadn’t the _faintest_ where to begin. Finally he managed, “I had you brought to my home to heal your wounds. I hope that was not too presumptuous of me.”

Her smile widened a fraction, undoubtedly amused by his adherence to propriety, even now, after everything that had happened and who she had become.

“ _Most_ kind of you.”

He laughed a little, though it was not a happy sound. “I offer my most sincere apologies for the way you were treated. That is not the usual way we go about things here, but I was away visiting a friend, and Captain Fitzwilliam…”

Elizabeth huffed at the thought of Captain Fitzwilliam. “Nasty blighter. He never would have caught me anyway, had that traitor Hornigold not happened upon my ship crippled in a storm.”

Captain Hornigold, a reformed pirate himself, had proved a most useful asset in rounding up the buccaneers. Still, James _never_ would have guessed the man would bring in a fish _this_ big.

“Then how did you end up in Fitzwilliam’s hands?” James had not been told this part of the tale. But then he’d been so angry he supposed no one wished to chase after the subject with him.

“I was already in shackles and he and his men snatched me off the dock.”

James wondered who else had been involved in the whipping of Elizabeth Swann. Somehow he doubted Lt. Toadface could have managed her alone.

“You seem to have a history?”

She grunted, and James wasn’t sure if it was a sound of disgust or pain. “Perhaps I did take fifty men off Barbados, but they were not _his_ men,” Elizabeth elaborated with a sudden hard edge to her tone. “He was convoying with a slaver. We ambushed the bastards, freed their _cargo,_ and gladly scuttled the Royal African Company ship soon after. Fitzwilliam was vastly annoyed, no doubt, that he would not receive his bonus for a successful journey.”

James pressed his lips, fighting a battle with a smile. The slavery trade was not an element of English colonialism he liked, though the plantations certainly could not operate competitively without the free labor. It was an evil, but a necessary one. “I am going to pretend I did not hear that,” he said, in the same tone he’d used when she was but a girl, caught in the midst of some mischief aboard his ship.

Elizabeth laughed a little, and then winced for the havoc it played with her back. She groaned, burying her face in the soft pillow. “Son of a bitch got his pound of flesh out of me in the end though, didn’t he?” Her voice was muffled by the down pillow, but James still caught most of it, and appeared mildly shocked by her coarse language. Which at a glance, caused her to laugh again. “I am sorry,” she apologized. “I shall endeavor to soften my vocabulary for gentile ears.”

James sighed, exasperated already, in the happy way he had always been when faced with her small improprieties. Secretly he relished her spirit; he always had.

“What has happened to my crew?” she asked next, worry clear as a bell in her tone. She clearly feared they had received the same treatment as their Captain, or worse.

James made an attempt at an assuring smile. “Well, they refused to take the King’s Pardon, if you can imagine.” Elizabeth held her breath, waiting to hear James say he had thusly hung them all. “So they have been put to work repairing the fort with the rest of your stubborn subjects. I hope it will change their minds.”

A sigh of relief escaped her at hearing her boys had not been put to death just yet. “You are merciful, Governor Norrington. Thank you.”

“I am shorthanded,” he evaded, annoyed to feel another blush coming upon him. “Once the battlements have been repaired I wouldn’t count too heavily upon my goodwill. They will have to make the hard choice eventually, _Your Highness._ You can count on that.”

“And myself?”

“Let us get you up and walking before I give you the full surrender or die speech, hmm? It puts such a damper on the evening.”

Elizabeth laughed a little, trying not to jostle her back too much. She cast her eyes over James, assessing his appearance after so many long years of absence. He had aged, certainly, but exceedingly well. He was not wearing his wig, and a hint of silver showed at his temples, stark against the sable dark of the rest of his close-shorn hair. There were lines upon his face, as anyone who spent the majority of their life at sea was bound to have. But his eyes remained bright and sharp, such a rich emerald green beneath a sweep of dark lashes, and she could not help but notice he appeared fit and trim as he had in vigorous youth.

“You look well, James,” she complimented, squeezing his long fingers in hers. “Or should I say, _Sir_ James? I was so proud when I heard of your knighting but not the least surprised. Has life been good to you? Did you marry? Have you children?” She asked these personal questions with the assurance of one who was certain the asked would answer _yes_ and happily so.

James cast his eyes down so that she would not see the flash of pain therein. Even after so long the wound still felt alarmingly _fresh,_ especially with her near at hand. Of all the commissions, posts, and titles he had earned over the years, husband and father never ranked among them. A confirmed bachelor, the closest James had ever come to becoming a bridegroom was _fiancé,_ and Elizabeth Swann had made short work of that little blunder.

“I…no, I fear not,” he answered simply. A winsome smile played over his handsome features as he said, “It is an _achievement_ I have yet to fulfil. Or more likely, will continue to fall short of.”

He echoed the language his proposal to her of so many years ago, and a surprising pang struck Elizabeth’s heart. It was not exactly _regret,_ though she was not so callous as some would care to believe, and the knowledge that she had hurt James inspired an uncommon _twinge_ in her black little heart.

“Oh…I see.” There was an awkward pause as Elizabeth racked her brains for something suitable to say. She was out of practice when it came to polite conversation. Finally she arrived at, “Then who was that young gentleman who argued so spiritedly with Captain Fitzwilliam on my behalf? He is the spitting image of you.”

“Ah. My nephew, Sheridan. My eldest brother’s son. He thought he might like some firsthand experience with politics, so his father saw fit to send him out here with me. He is a good boy, though I find his enthusiasm _exhausting._ ” The last was delivered with the self-deprecating smile of an old man passing petty judgement upon the young.

“Indeed. Well, you may give him my thanks.”

“You may give it yourself in due course. I am sure you will run into him here.”

Elizabeth paid him a considering glance, curious that James seemed to envision her having free run of this house in no time. It was a little strange, to be sure, but mostly…sweet. James Norrington had always been a good man, a _far_ better man than she’d _ever_ deserved.

“Well…it is late, Pirate King,” said James, standing from the bedside chair, his hand reluctantly slipping from hers. “Do get some rest.”

He narrowly resisted the urge to kiss her hair, clasping his hands behind his back in firm resistance to the impulse. Perhaps she was in his care now, but she was not _his._ He would do well to remember it.

As he turned for the door she called, “James?” He paused, cocking his head inquiringly. “Thank you.”

He shook his head, glancing fleetingly at the blood-stained gauze mess that was her back before returning eyes to hers. “I fear there is not much to thank me for, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth, however, knew all too well the pickle she would be in if in the hands of any other official representing the King of England. Not only a Pirate King, but a woman? Compared to some tortures, a few lashes from an overzealous subordinate seemed like a spring picnic.

“I’ve had worse, believe me. You _are_ a good man. I thank you, and I mean it.” She said it like a royal decree, and the Governor bowed his head, murmuring a few syllables of acknowledgement, before beating a hasty retreat.


	3. Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pirate King rises from her sickbed.

Two days later Elizabeth was roused from her sleep early in the morning by the ringing of clashing swords, somewhere nearby. It was not an unusual sound in her world, but it had the power to wake her as other women her age would jump to attention at the sound of a mewling babe. Elizabeth rose carefully, curious enough to ignore the burning pain in her back. A dressing gown lay across the chair nearby, no doubt in anticipation of the occasion she would feel well enough to vacate the bed, and she swung it around her body with a wince.

Slowly, step by step she was able to make it to her balcony. The soft light of a tropical morning made her squint just a little; these early hours could be a godsend from the grueling heat of the day that would follow. Elizabeth looked out over the back garden, where she was treated to the explanation of how James Norrington had preserved his athletic figure into the twilight of his youth.

Several young men were gathered around, watching intently as James engaged a young opponent in a bout with practice swords, dulled edges and blunted tips no doubt, but could still hurt well enough if you received a direct hit. James was clearly the better fencer, but he did not hold it over the lad’s head, instead taking the opportunity to instruct and correct the boy’s mistakes without ego. The crowd of young men watched with bated breath, hanging on every pearl of wisdom imparted from the legend that was Sir James Norrington.

Elizabeth herself watched with fascination for a long time with parted lips, mesmerized by the sight of James’ flashing sword, and the play of his practiced movements. His tall form was lithe as a cat with a blade in his hand, and watching him fence was like witnessing a master amidst a practiced dance. His every movement was measured, calculated, and perfectly timed. In fact, she was so taken by the sight that she hardly noticed his young nephew Sheridan approaching until he was directly beneath her balcony.

“Halloo there,” he called with a boyish smile that was rather infectious in nature. “You are looking decidedly more spry than last I saw you.”

Elizabeth paid him a genuine smile in reply. “Indeed. And I hear you are the one I have to thank for such a gallant rescue?”

Sheridan had the grace to look down a moment, his cheeks coloring, and he _painfully_ reminded her of James in his youth just then. “I cannot take all the credit, my lady. If it were not for my Uncle James I fear Fitzwilliam would have rendered you to fish bait.”

“Well. Your _Uncle_ James is too humble to accept my thanks, so you might as well take all the credit you can,” she informed him with a cheeky smile.

The boy colored a deeper pink, though there was an answering twinkle of mischief in his eye. “Very well, perhaps I shall. And how are you feeling this fine morning, Miss Swann?”

The deliberate exemption of her title amused her. “Oh dear. I have not been called _Miss_ Swann for an age.”

Sheridan cocked his head, seemingly puzzled. “You are married?”

She laughed at the thought. “ _God no_. But I am a Captain and a King— _Miss_ loses its luster after _that,_ doesn’t it?”

The boy smiled in response, seeming somewhat at a loss. He tried again. “Well, _Captain Swann_ , how do you fare this morning?”

It was a start.

“I feel as though someone attempted to turn me into fish bait, thank you for asking.”

With a sad smile Sheridan nodded minutely. “Just so, my lady, just so.” In that moment his solemn façade very much resembled that of his uncle’s, and that similarity proceeded to lodge Elizabeth’s heart in her throat. Somehow she was reminded of a time so very long ago, and an innocent girl she’d once been. Once, before the pirates came to Port Royal and young William Turner grew into his own, she had thought James Norrington to be the most dashing male figure upon the island, and very much liked the idea of becoming his wife. She did not know why that memory made her so maudlin at that moment; she did not regret her choices in life, or the adventures she’d lead. _Why…_

Elizabeth and Sheridan simultaneously noticed the sound of clanging swords had ceased, and indeed the whole party upon the lawn had paused to turn eyes upon the infamous Pirate King upon their Governor’s balcony.

Never one to disappoint an audience, Elizabeth cracked an insouciant half smile. “At ease, boys,” she teased. “I have only just risen from my deathbed; no need to quake in your boots with fear _just_ yet.”

James regarded her with amusement, his sword held behind his back. It seemed Elizabeth still entertained grandiose ideas, for he felt certain it was not _fear_ that caused his troop of young men to halt so abruptly, but the pure splendor of the sight presiding over them. Elizabeth still possessed that heart-rending beauty that had the power to cause a man to trip in his tracks. Standing on the balcony framed by the soft Caribbean morning, her mane of golden hair brushed forward over one shoulder; she was a _painting_. A veritable Helen of Troy, and perhaps the Trojan Horse too, all wrapped in one.

No, James did not trust her anymore. Annoyingly, however, he did still seem to love her, a great deal. Such was the justice of the world. Even _more_ annoyingly, the sight of young Sheridan hailing her from below the balcony like a Romeo incarnate filled him with a hot flash of jealousy, a _ridiculous_ thing for a man in his position to feel for the parties involved. This situation had all the makings of a Shakespearean comedy, and James prayed that just this once, he would not be made her fool.

“Carry on, gentlemen,” he instructed, waving for a young Lieutenant named Harvey and a midshipman called Banks to engage in a bout. Somehow, the sound of clashing swords _calmed_ his nerves as he approached the Pirate King. He nodded for Sheridan to join the other young men of the fencing salon. “I fear you won’t further your education by standing here mooning over Miss Swann,” he said with the unmistakable tone of an order, and for the sharp look in his uncle’s green eyes Sheridan was grateful for the easy opportunity to flee after a respectful nod to Elizabeth.

“Oh, he could learn a great deal from the likes of me, I dare say,” argued Elizabeth with that irreverent full-lipped smirk.

“Quite what I am afraid of, I assure you,” quipped James in return. “How are you feeling?”

The truthful answer was _exhausted and in pain,_ but Elizabeth merely compensated by lowering herself to sit upon the low railing of the balcony. Her back had begun to throb something _wicked._ “Right as rain,” she answered, knowing James did not believe her in the least.

“A record recovery from an enthusiastic flogging. Quite the miracle,” deadpanned the Governor, casting an appraising eye over Elizabeth. A sheen of sweat had appeared on her forehead, and she looked frightfully pale. “Just to be safe, perhaps a little more rest is in order, Your Highness?”

It was treason, pure and simple, to address her as such, but her title fell so easily from James’ tongue. Perhaps because she had always ruled over him, in some way or another. His heart could vouch for it on a stack of bibles.

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “The sound of swordplay woke me. I had to investigate.”

“Hoping your cohorts had come to free you so soon?”

She paid him a gentle smile that tied up his heartstrings. “I don’t mind staying for a _little_ while longer.”

James fought the urge to swallow audibly, certain she could see it all upon his face. “Well and good. For until you take the Pardon I fear you have no choice.”

At this a stormy look overtook Elizabeth’s visage; _that_ look he knew well too. With narrowed eyes she stood quickly, only to have a dizzy spell overtake her. Teetering on her feet, she fell back down upon the railing, wincing with the motion and her face gone white as a sheet. A searing pain shot down her back, causing her fists to ball and her body involuntarily convulsed. In a panic James stood ready to catch her, fearing she would plummet. “Elizabeth?”

“ _I’m fine_ ,” she assured him through clenched teeth, pressing fingers to her temple. “I think you were correct in your advice to lay down again.”

James feared what might happen if she tried to stand again. She looked like she might fall over on the spot, and making his way through the house and up the stairs may take too long. “Hold fast,” he instructed with the authority of the quarterdeck, a habit in a crisis that would never leave him. “I’ll come to you.”

The fencing party watched with astonishment as the usually dignified Governor clambered up the trellis with the agility of a young man, lighting upon the Pirate King’s balcony like a practiced cat burglar.

“My, that was a pretty trick!” teased Elizabeth, a sparkle in her dark eyes for James’ urgent measures. “What a shame you never tried that on _my_ balcony, James Norrington.”

The Governor visibly colored, faltering for a moment before offering her his hands. “That hardly would have been proper.”

She clasped his proffered hands, and carefully stood with his help. Just that little motion caused her to wince with pain. Clearly, moving from her bed had been an _awful_ mistake.

“No, but it would have been _interesting_ ,” she said, appreciative of the strength in his large hands. She squeezed his fingers in hers, and James paused once more. Through his hands she could sense the tension singing in his body, taut as a bowline. He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it, thinking better of whatever he might have quipped next. Instead he asked, “Can you walk? I could carry you but I fear it would do more damage than good.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, intrigued by the thought of James sweeping her off her feet. It was not often the desire to indulge such female trifles struck her, but once in a while…

 _What rubbish_ , she scolded herself.

“I can walk,” she answered hastily, hoping her expression had not betrayed her thoughts. Putting James off balance with her saucy comments was one thing. Allowing him to do the same to her would be a _great_ folly. Despite their past and the kindness he’d shown her, she had to remind herself she was _not_ in friendly territory. “If you give me your arm, I do believe I will make it.”

“Gladly, my lady.”

Arm in arm, they slowly made their way back inside. Beside the bed James seemed to be at a bit of a loss, coloring a little when he realized she needed to remove her wrapper before laying down. “Erm…I shall summon your nurse, perhaps?”

“You could just close your eyes,” she suggested before she could stop herself, her sly smile widening as the Governor’s color heightened.

“I…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably, all too tempted by the idea.

_Merciless chit._

Finally and definitively, in his Captain’s voice he answered, “No. Sit.” He helped lower her to perch on the side of the bed, and fled to find Miss Millie, her nurse and maid at this hour. Elizabeth watched his tall, broad-shouldered form retreat through the door, her lips pursed with thought.

James was not _quite_ the sack of nerves he’d once been around her, but vestiges of that old tension still seemed to remain between them. Perhaps it was unkind of her to tease him so, but it was her nature and always had been.

And then…there was _curiosity,_ that old friend that always led her on her best and most _dangerous_ adventures. Why should this time be any different?


	4. Proclivity for Banditry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which young Sheridan needles his Uncle for more information about the past.

“Well, what an interesting morning thus far,” exclaimed a freshly bathed Sheridan, breezing into the dining room for the morning repast. “I like your Pirate King. A most amusing lady, dear Uncle.”

He collapsed down into one of the chairs, reaching for a piece of toast with one hand and pouring coffee with the other. Sheridan never seemed able to limit himself to one task at a time, a thing that annoyed James to no end. He winced as the boy splashed coffee on the white tablecloth, returning the pot to its tray with a _thunk._

Had he _ever_ been so careless in his youth? He didn’t think so, but then, he had grown up on a ship, and not coddled as the first son of a Baron. By the time he’d reached Sheridan’s age of twenty and two, he had been at sea for a decade, had seen battle and known what it was like to have an enemy’s blood on your hands. Yet despite their differences, Sheridan was his favorite nephew, and the loveable scamp very well knew it too.

James raised an eyebrow at Sheridan’s pronouncement, and sighed as the boy flung a speck of jam onto the table as he enthusiastically coated his toast. It balanced the coffee stain, he supposed.

“She is not _my_ Pirate King,” James corrected primly, even as he felt the most ridiculous spike of annoyance for the familiar way Sheridan conversed of her. He thought of the way Elizabeth had smiled down at the comely youth earlier, and his teeth clicked against the bone china of his teacup.

Sheridan smiled as though he did not _quite_ believe his uncle, but nodded anyway. “Of course. I beg your pardon. Although…you _do_ have a history, do you not?”

The Governor sighed, suddenly too tired for this early in the day. He might have guessed this line of inquiry would be forthcoming. “We were friends, a _long_ time ago.” A decade and then some was practically a lifetime for a youth Sheridan’s age.

Sheridan’s smile widened slightly. “ _Friends,_ Uncle?”

Another long suffering sigh escaped James, and this time he was not sure if it was the boy’s line of questioning, or the life he’d lost in Port Royal. “It sounds as though you already know the story.”

“I know Father’s version, which is never the most accurate or the most kind, and I know some gossip I have picked up here and there. I would rather hear it from you, if I am not too impertinent to ask.”

The corner of James’ mouth quirked a little at this _diplomatic_ tack. Perhaps the lad had a future in politics after all. James drummed long fingers on the table, finally answering, “We were engaged for a brief, _very_ brief time, when I was stationed in Port Royal. She was quite young. Too young, perhaps, though I did not see it then.”

He’d only seen her beauty, he reckoned, and her vibrant youth, so _badly_ wanting to possess her for himself. This highly sterile version of events did nothing to account for the _longing_ he’d felt for her, the _toil_ he’d undergone to earn the promotion that would make him enough her peer for a marriage, or even, dare he say, the abiding _love_ he’d felt for that girl. Perhaps he had not understood her, but he certainly had adored her. He would have cherished her as a wife, and done everything in his power to make her happy.

Somehow, running away with pirates had seemed the better option to her.

“You loved her?”

The impertinent question caused James’ spine to stiffen slightly, which was an answer in of itself. “That is a bold thing to ask.”

“Is it not requisite to a marriage?”

“I think you know it is not.”

Sheridan smiled around the edge of his teacup. “You _still_ love her,” he dared, winning a withering look from Sir James. It was a look that had once sent buccaneers wailing for quarter, but somehow this boy was impervious. Perhaps because Sheridan knew that beyond the stony façade that Sir James kept erected for the world at large, there was a heart the size of the ocean. James was a man who held an abiding love of the people it was his duty to serve _,_ and surely this girl Elizabeth Swann had been no different?

James set down his teacup carefully, casting his eyes down until he was sure they would not betray everything he still felt for Elizabeth Swann.

“Sheridan, I feel I must caution you in regards to our resident Pirate King. She can play quite the coquette, which a man may find pleasantly disarming, but don’t be fooled by her comely façade. She is dangerous.”

He remembered the way she’d teased him earlier: _You could just close your eyes,_ and his entire body warmed with the memory of her honeyed tone. Suddenly his neck cloth seemed a _stifling_ article of clothing, but he feared adjusting it would win yet another knowing look from the all-too-perceptive imp seated before him.

The boy raised an eyebrow, and James could see that the boy could not even fathom that there was some risk or threat to housing such a woman beneath their roof, Pirate King or no. It was a trap many men had fallen into, including James himself, once upon a time.

James continued, “She is here for several reasons. One, as a courtesy to an old friend. I do not like it that our Captain Fitzwilliam took justice into his own hands. It is an embarrassing breach of discipline, and should not have happened on our watch. Such a thing makes me reluctant to leave her at the Fort, for there is always a risk that a woman may endure some insult, and she has already had her share from us. Then, there is the fact that it would be a hazard to house her near her former subjects. She is clever as a fox, and there is no reason to make it easy for her to stage an uprising.

“We walk a thin line here. England is an ocean away, and the former pirates need no sentimental remembrance of the loyalties they have left behind. Thus, we shall house her here, where we can keep an eye on her. Though of course she is no true monarch, a little respect can go a long way in loosening a tongue. Perhaps we shall learn something of use, or better yet, perhaps she will take the pardon and convince the others to follow suit. It would be a great triumph for us. You saw how she responded to a whipping: with bared teeth and laughter and _do your worst_. She would rather die than respond to a threat. No, this fly must be caught with honey, dear boy. It shall be a good lesson for you.”

“It sounds as though you harbor a great deal of admiration for her, Uncle.”

James opened his mouth, knowing he should protest the notion of having any sort of esteem for a _pirate,_ and yet coming up blank. Despite her proclivity for banditry upon the high seas, he could not bring himself to speak ill of her, and despite the way she had _destroyed_ his hopes for the future, he could not bring himself to stop loving her. Finally he settled for, “She is a _singular_ lady. I shall grant her that.”

That twinkle of mischief returned to the boy’s grey eyes, much like the glint of light off a bared dagger. Perhaps Sheridan was a young man, but he was not entirely a fool. “Well, she shan’t be a difficult guest to look upon at supper, by my word!”

James narrowed his eyes at the boy, but narrowly resisted an outburst, realizing that the lad meant to bait him. Instead he sighed heavily, his usual response when Sheridan said something outlandish.

Oh, how youth is wasted on the young.


	5. Sedition Over Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth is well enough to breakfast with the Governor.

A week later, James thought that Elizabeth may have healed enough to join him for breakfast. He sent Miss Millie to propose the invitation to Her Highness, and soon after the din of an argument drifted down the hall towards the dining room. Or rather, half an argument, for where it seemed Millie emphatically protested some grievous offence, Elizabeth only responded with a teasing joviality.

After years of exposure to gunfire James’ hearing was not what it once was, but as they neared closer the Governor could make out strains of their discourse. "You _cannot_ breakfast with the Governor in your nightgown, Miss! It ain't proper!"

"Of course I can," countered Elizabeth, seeming amused, even enjoying teasing Millie. "I doubt he'll mind. We were engaged to be married once, you know."

“ _Oh_ , you are a wicked thing!”

“Good Lord, woman, I am covered neck to ankle and wrapped in a dressing gown besides. What is improper about it?” James smiled in spite of himself, mentally picturing the roll of large brown eyes that must have accompanied the statement. An old memory struck him. _Might I trouble you for something to wear, or shall it be bare ankles and heaving bosoms all the way?_

Warmth bloomed in his belly for the thought.

“Ye aren’t properly dressed!”

“You think it a good idea to truss me in a corset so soon with this injury? That’s so diabolical it’s nearly _Spanish_ , my dear. Might as well throw me on the rack and be done with it,” Elizabeth teased. “You know, I am of the staunch opinion that if women are to ever free themselves, they must start with their clothing. There is a reason men keep us captive in skirts and bound up under our attire. Have you ever tried the freedom of a pair of breeches?”

“Never! It just ain’t done!” squawked the scandalized maid.

“It ain’t, that’s true, but that is not to say it _couldn’t_ …”

“Miss Swann, _please_ come back to your room and put on a proper dress. I won’t tie your laces too tight, I promise.”

In truth she was healed enough that she probably could have withstood it, but she was not one to volunteer for discomfort for the sake of fashion anymore.

“Call me Your Highness and perhaps I will consider it,” said Elizabeth cheekily, winning another squeal of frustration.

“I will most certainly _not._ You are no King, mum. Won’t catch me in no acts of treason, pon my word!”

Elizabeth, however, only laughed. “I know several pirates who would disagree with you, dear lady. Now, where are we going? Ah, here we are.” Moments later Elizabeth breezed into the room, a highly flustered Miss Millie trailing behind her. Though it was true that Elizabeth was indeed covered most completely, the sight of her still did not fail to take James’ breath away. He stood from his seat, dipping in a bow.

“Good morning, Miss Swann.”

Her smile was like the sun breaking the horizon, and she even offered a small if not stiff curtsey. “Good morning, Governor Norrington.”

Millie watched in horror as James pulled out a chair for the Pirate King, paying no mind to her grievous attire. Gladly Elizabeth accepted, letting James push her in, and the maid wished she could simply throw up her hands and be done with this circus. The fact that she _liked_ the dread pirate Elizabeth Swann only compounded her confusion and frustration.

“Sir, I’m sorry, but she won’t listen to me…” said Millie, wringing her hands. James smiled gently, sympathetic to her debacle.

“You have done splendidly, Miss Millie,” said James, taking his own chair once more. “I will take the Pirate King from here.”

With a sigh and a quick curtsey, Millie gladly fled.

“Spreading seditious fashion advice through my staff already?” teased James. “That didn’t take long.”

“It’s is not _seditious_ so much as it is practical. Recall, if I had not been tied up like a sacrificial calf ripe for the slaughter, I would not have fallen from the ramparts one particularly fateful morning. Who knows how our lives may have changed?”

James’ expression remained tellingly blank, though one eyebrow did twitch. “Indeed,” he acknowledged, pretending as though his heart did not beat double-time when thinking of the debacle of that day.

What did she _mean_ by that, exactly?

All he could think were hauntingly unhelpful questions, such as:

_Would you have accepted my proposal?_

_Could we have been happy?_

_Would you have loved me?_

She could see that despite his efforts to hide it, she had caused him turmoil, and stranger yet, she felt _badly_ for it. Usually she could speak without remorse—or fear of reproach. She was a _King_ after all _._ But seeing James’ expression drawn in such a study of uncertainty plucked at her heartstrings in a way she was not prepared for. “Please don’t think on it with regret, James. Consider yourself lucky. I would have made a poor wife to you, in practically every way you can imagine. You dodged a bullet, dear, believe me.”

James could not find it in himself to agree, and his code as a gentleman left him at odds with what to say. Disagree with a lady, or insist she not malign herself so? Cautiously he offered, “I am not sure I can believe it would have been as bad as all that.”

Elizabeth offered a small smile. “You needn’t defend my honor in this matter, I assure you. By now I know myself, all too well.”

James found, inexplicably, that he _wanted_ to argue with her. To tell her that he would have tried his damndest to make her happy. The only thing that stopped him was not propriety, but how much it would _hurt_ to see her smile apologetically and have her tell him that it wouldn’t have been enough. That _he_ wouldn’t have been enough.

Which of course, was perfectly true, wasn’t it?

She had traded her prospects as mistress of his household for a theatre that spanned the _entire_ globe. James had been told that pirates from all over the world sailed to pay homage at Shipwreck Cove. Rumor was that the King had transformed a crumbling pirate city into a bustling metropolis bursting with trade. An island empire built on stolen and smuggled goods, distributed into just the right hands for just the right price.

Despite himself, he smiled a little, causing her head to tilt in curiosity. “What’s that for?” she asked gently, in a honeyed voice meant to cajole, which he fell for hook line and sinker.

“Funny, is all. I am supposed to admonish you for being an outlaw and usurping the laws of God and Man, but the truth of the matter is that I am quite impressed with what you have accomplished.”

Her smile widened over her teacup, unexpected pride blooming in her heart, and Elizabeth took a sip of coffee. “But that won’t stop you from doing your duty, will it?”

“I fear not.”

Elizabeth sighed, and leaned back in her chair, her posture slouching in the most unladylike and yet somehow completely alluring manner. She was like a cat, seeming poised for action even in languid repose. “Oh James. I wish there was some way I could make this easier for you.”

“You could make this easier for _both_ of us, by taking the pardon.”

This train caused the Pirate King to narrow her eyes. “Tell me something, Governor. If I _were_ to take the pardon, what exactly would I do with myself afterwards? I am a woman and thus not allowed under English law to run a business or own property, due to my _limited intellect_ and _inferiority to men_. Am I expected to sign my name and get in line to spread my legs with the rest of the forgotten females at Madame Renée’s?”

 _Madame Renée’s_ was the more notorious brothel on the island, possibly even in the West Indies, and James instantly colored. “Of _course_ not!” he admonished.

Elizabeth barely disguised her mirth for his obvious discomfort and the high color in his cheeks. “Well?”

“You could go home to family, perhaps, or…you could marry.” Elizabeth answered this with a bitter laugh, which finally served to stretch James’ good humor, a thread of heat entering his tone. “Is that really a worse alternative than _death_?”

“I have no family. Cutler Beckett killed my father in the name of _good business_ on behalf of the Crown. And as far as marriage…who on _Earth_ would be fool enough to wed the former Pirate King?”

“You might be surprised,” James grumbled into his teacup, his eyes cast down.

“Indeed, I might. Perhaps I could catch myself a chap with similar interests. Politics, maybe? Or a sea captain who would tolerate my quirks with more indulgence than a landsman.”

James dared meet her eyes, and felt as though a lightning bolt struck through him as she fixed him with a molten stare. “Yes, perhaps that would be a good match for you,” he deadpanned, trying like _hell_ not to betray the fact that his heart was in his throat.

“He would have to be brave, of course. For he would surely know that as a _widow_ I would have _much_ more freedom than under his thumb.”

James promptly choked on his tea.

Chuckling, Elizabeth stood and fussed with a napkin, blotting the table and the front of his shirt, clearly trying not to laugh _too_ hard at his expense. James caught her fine-boned wrist in his hand, because her touch was simply _too much_ in that moment. He realized he’d touched her more in the past couple weeks than in the _entire_ decade of their acquaintance before, and it was driving him slightly _mad_.

She stood over him, looking down with a knowing gaze, those large brown eyes filled with something he _so badly_ wanted to touch, even if he knew it would _burn_ him.

How _easily_ she led him into that trap!

Engaging with this woman was playing with fire.

Absently his thumb stroked her wrist, feeling her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers. It was her only tell. “Do you toy with me deliberately, or is it simply old habit?”

Tenderly she touched the side of his face with her other hand, and he did not stop her. He _could_ not stop her. “Do you know what is really going to happen, James?” she asked quietly.

“I find my imagination is lacking today.”

“I am happy to dally here with you as long as we may; it is a welcome diversion. But I am not going to take the pardon. Eventually you are going to have to send me back to London for trial. I will endure countless indignities along the way, and if I survive, I will finally I have my day in court. Whence, I will be spit upon and harangued and condemned to hang.”

“That does _not_ need be the end of this story,” he rasped.

She stroked his forehead, smoothing that adorable little crease that was so prevalent between his eyebrows. It seemed some things did not change. “I’m just warning you, so that you might make yourself ready.”

Elizabeth turned to retreat back to her room, assuming she’d worn out her welcome, but James could not bring himself to release her just yet. He stood, and pulled her back before him. “Why?” he demanded, craning his neck to look down upon her. “ _Why_ would you stay this course? Forfeit your _life?_ I could _save_ you if you would only let me!”

Again she reached up to touch his face. She simply could not stop herself, because she wished she could take away all the pain in those lovely green eyes. And curiosity led her too, as the blade of her thumb brushed his lower lip, ever so gently.

“Because it is not in my nature to bow or bend. Because I have a point to make to those who would call themselves my master. _Because_ there is a sovereign nation of free men and women looking to _me_ , and they will not relent. Killing me will not be the end of this for good King George, and it will not stop with my little island of pirates. The American Colonies are on the brink of rebellion too, you know. There is a war coming. They will not stand for his ridiculous taxes and his oppressive laws any longer.”

James wanted to _shake_ her for all her stubbornness, and his grip tightened upon her with the urge. His frustration compounded with her small hand wandering upon him, her palm now pressed flat against his chest. Something inside Elizabeth responded to this, to the fire in his eyes triggering an unexpected desire to pulse through her veins. Her lids lowered, her head tilted back, just a fraction. Just _enough_ , and like a magnet he was drawn down to her, her parted lips like a beacon of hope as he was tossed on a cold stormy sea.

"Good morning!"

Elizabeth and James both jumped with guilty surprise, finding a bright eyed and bushy tailed Sheridan in the doorway. He regarded them with a small smile, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Good morning, Sheridan," said Elizabeth, the first to recover. "Your uncle spilled his tea, I was just..." She swatted at the stain on James' shirt with the napkin. "Ah, well."

"Oh dear." Sheridan seemed nonplussed, and pulled out Elizabeth 's chair for her, mostly because he wished to be seated himself. The boy had slept a good ten hours and now he was _ravenous._ Elizabeth looked to James for permission to sit at the table again, and received a reluctant wave of his hand and a silent _by your leave._

She sat, and James followed suit, frowning slightly. He ignored Sheridan’s polite chatter, instead demanding before the trail ran cold, “And how do you know of talk of revolution in the American Colonies?"

"Because I do business there," she answered while folding a new napkin in her lap, as though it should be obvious. "Well, I _did_ , at any rate."

She shot an apologetic smile to James as a peace offering, but he wasn't quite ready to take the olive branch yet. Sheridan grinned broadly, clearly thinking the subtext of their disagreement hilarious, the imp.

"With whom, may I ask?"

She gave him a look as though to say _I wasn’t born yesterday_ , and sought to change the subject. “And how fares my lady _The Artemis_? I assume you are having her repaired. Too fine a ship to let go to waste.”

James took a deep calming breath, and his voice sounded perfectly normal as he answered, “Indeed she is. I am going to inspect the work today.”

“May I come along?”

James pressed his lips, considering the idea, knowing it would be criticized to let his prisoner jaunt about so freely.

“I am not certain that would be the best course.”

Her face immediately fell, and she sighed. “You shall have to rename her, you know. No longer the Virgin Huntress. She’d never been taken by another ship, before that Judas Hornigold happened upon us.” She pursed those bee stung lips with thought. “Perhaps _The Leda_ would do nicely.”

“That’s a lovely name,” said Sheridan around a mouthful of bacon and toast, pouring himself a second cup of coffee.

James glared in his nephew’s direction. “Clearly my brother has neglected your lessons in the classics.” And yet he did not relish explaining at the breakfast table that Leda was a woman raped by Zeus, the King of the gods, in the form of a swan, or the allegory Elizabeth was undoubtedly attempting to draw between her ship and their King.

Sheridan made a dismissing wave. “They’re just stories, Uncle.”

“You might be surprised, dear Sheridan,” answered Elizabeth, thinking of her own encounters with the deities of old. James shot her a look, pleading with her not to fill his impressionable nephew’s head with such outlandish stories as their foray into the Aztec pantheon and cursed gold. James would _never_ hear the end of it. But there was mischief in her eyes, and he could tell she intended to tell the tale as she opened her mouth.

He beat her to the punch, interrupting with something that would be sure to please her: “If you are to come with me today you shall need to dress now.”

Elizabeth bowed her head, smiling like the cat who ate _all_ the cream. “ _Thank you,_ Governor. It will be a pleasure.” She took her leave of the breakfast table, and both men watched her swaying walk in rapt silence.


	6. A Taste of Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth is allowed to visit the Artemis.

“Are you sure you are well enough to ride?” asked James, eyeing Elizabeth with concern. She seemed to walk without hindrance now, but he feared that illusion was all with this woman. She had borrowed a simple linen dress from Millie with a country hem that showed flashes of ankle, and James couldn’t help but think it became her well. “I could order the gig brought around.”

He _hated_ the gig, by far preferring the mobility of a single mount. He’d been raised as a country gentleman, and horseback riding was one of the things he enjoyed most in his new life as a land lubber. The gig was cumbersome but he would make the exception for her comfort, of course. Sheridan waited patiently, holding the reins of his horse loosely in one hand.

“Please, no. I would prefer to ride. What fine horses you keep, Sir James,” she said, stroking her gelding’s neck appreciatively. She spoke to the horse in a low soothing voice, scratching its neck and under its chin.

As usual, she went straight for his weakness, this time his propensity for fine horses. “Thank you kindly, Your Highness. Ready?” He helped her up into the saddle, telling himself that it was entirely necessary that he put his hand on her waist to steady her, and that he was not simply behaving like a love-sick cad.

In truth, the jostling gait of the horse hurt Elizabeth’s back, but she would have rather died than show it. The desire to see her ship, her _home,_ one last time before it was rendered nigh unrecognizable to her burned fierce in her heart and gave her unexpected strength.

“Are you sure it will not hurt too much to see _The Artemis_?” asked James quietly, once they were well on their way down the road. He thought of how it had pained him to lose the _Interceptor,_ and imagined she harbored a similar attachment, if not a deeper one.

“She has been my home for a long time, James,” Elizabeth answered. “It would be good to say goodbye.”

“You do not have a home in Shipwreck?” Sheridan asked curiously. He had been surprisingly quiet up until then.

“I have rooms there I occupy occasionally.” A small smile curled at the memory. “Light filled rooms at the top of a tower, that once were the great cabin of a Spanish Galleon. Filled with books and curiosities…” She sighed. “Which I suppose I will also never see again.”

A long silence drew out, in which James cursed himself. No matter how absurd, he felt quite the monster for plucking her away from all she’d known for the past decade of her life. He wanted to offer to buy her every book in the world, if only to see her smile again. Finally he simply said, “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I wish…”

“ _If wishes were fishes…”_ she grumbled under her breath. “It’s _alright_ , James. You need not apologize anymore. I don’t blame _you_ for any of this and you have been nothing but kind. Far kinder than I deserve.”

James wasn’t sure about that, but he let it go.

They crested a ridge, and the glittering azure harbor lay down below. There was _The Artemis,_ as pretty a little ship that ever did sail the seas. She was a corvette, a smaller vessel of 75 feet, fast as the devil and armed to the teeth with a complement of twenty guns. Her mainmast had been repaired, and several yardarms replaced.

A clutch of workers hung from scaffolding over the side; they were painting her a _wretched_ mustard yellow. “ _Argh_!” she exclaimed in reaction to the color, as well as numerable other expletives that burned the gentlemen’s ears, and urged her horse down the hill.

For a moment James thought she had decided to run, until she reined in her mount by the shore, squinting for a better view. The ship had been a very smart black with a red stripe. Now, she was taking on the appearance of a rotting banana. “What the _devil_ are they doing to her?” Elizabeth snarled, and the two men looked to each other wide eyed, unsure as how to placate her.

James wasn’t actually sure. These were not changes he had discussed with the shipwrights, though he was loathe to admit that he was ignorant of the goings-on. It also appeared some changes were being made to the forecastle and stern, the figurehead removed, and a new deck being added to the back. Immediately James thought _Fitzwilliam,_ as _The Artemis_ was to serve as a tender to his ship _The Mako,_ though he wasn’t sure _why_ the man would order such changes _._

“Perhaps this was not the best idea…” said James, thinking he may send her back to the house with Sheridan while he conducted business in the town. He did not relish encountering Fitzwilliam with her in tow.

“No. Please, I _must_ see her,” begged Elizabeth, an uncharacteristically desperate note in her voice. As usual, James could do nothing but relent.

A launch took them to the ship, and Elizabeth looked upon it with a mixture of disdain and awe. She approved of the carpentry, it seemed, but utterly disdained the new paint. James spoke to the head shipwright on deck as Elizabeth made for her cabin. James saw no harm in letting her go.

At first.

Until it occurred to him that she could have _all manners_ of nasty surprises secreted in there. Weapons. Black powder. Would she blow the ship to smithereens just to keep her from enemy hands? Possibilities raced through his mind as he dashed to follow her. When he burst through the door he did not find her aiming a canon in his direction, or brandishing a hidden brace of pistols. She stood by the aft windows with a leather bound book in hand, looking as though she meant to throw it through one open pane.

James remembered there had been a distinct lack of a ship’s log on this vessel, and immediately determined that this must be the missing leger, filled with who knew how many useful secrets. As he quickly crossed the room he nearly broke his ankle on an ajar board in the decking, undoubtedly the secret hiding place from whence she’d plucked this record. She snarled as he snatched it from her hands. “Give it back!”

“No.” She reached for the log as he held it above her head. He towered above her, of course, but it did not deter her for long. Though he was larger, she certainly knew how to use her weight to her advantage. She quickly hooked her leg behind his, pushing him off balance. Surprised, James fell back onto the desk and she resumed her pursuit of the book, practically climbing him like a tree. She would have scaled right into his canopy had he not wrapped an arm around her waist, pinning her against him.

“Elizabeth!” he admonished, flustered by the scuffle and her body pressed against his. She paused, breathing heavily, and they regarded each other from very close. He could not help but feel as though he were nose to nose with an angry tigress. A _comely_ angry tigress, whose body was lithe and deliciously pressed against his. Certain parts of his anatomy began to express their approval, mush to the Governor’s absolute mortification.

“There is _nothing_ of interest to you in there,” she insisted through gritted teeth, and he realized that she was _shaking_ in his arms. He tried not to be distracted by their closeness, _again,_ for the second time that day.

“Your behavior suggests otherwise. A list of your cohorts, perhaps? Rebel contacts in the colonies?”

“Like I would be fool enough to write _that_ down.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s…my journal. It’s _personal._ Please, give it back.”

His first impulse as a gentleman, of course, was to do just that. And then he remembered that she would surely manipulate him on such grounds, if there were anything useful within the pages. Duty clashed with personal interest, and it was a battle hard won. In the end he apologized, “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

She narrowed her eyes, and a small, dangerous smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Are you sure there isn’t _any_ way I could convince you?” Her voice slipped from _murder_ to warm honey in a matter of a second, and every single hair on James’ body stood at attention. A confusing mixture of fear and desire mingled in his belly, surprisingly similar to the way he used to feel on the eve of a battle.

He knew he could not trust her even as far as he could throw her, and yet _still_ when she shifted her legs apart, her hips pressed against his a sound of _pain_ escaped from deep in his throat. Knowing he would get _nowhere_ from this position, James moved her to sit on the desk with an arm locked about her waist. She was surprisingly light for someone who carried the explosive potential of a hogshead of black powder. There was a glitter of interest in her dark eyes as he assumed a position of power over her, his hand braced on the desk by her hip.

“Now that would hardly be gentlemanly, would it?” he questioned from just inches away. He tried to retreat. He really did. But it seemed he just _could not_ bring himself to move.

“I thought you knew by now, James Norrington,” she teased, a finger lifting to trace the collar of his tunic. That simple touch sent tremors marching down his spine. “Gentlemen rather _bore_ me.”

She tilted her head just so, a clear invitation for a kiss. It would have been so easy, _so simple,_ just to lower his head that fraction of distance, and at _long last_ he would know what Elizabeth Swann tasted like.

“Then I suppose you won’t be too cross after all when I read this,” he said, and with every last ounce of self-control he possessed, he stepped back with the journal in hand. The absence of her warmth against him left him feeling _ridiculously_ cold in the middle of a Caribbean day, but he held fast to the necessary distance between them, his heart pounding to quarters in his chest.

He awaited the inevitable fury to surface once more, but instead she just sprawled there, as though the carved mahogany desk were the most comfortable piece of furniture in the room, one slippered foot swinging blithely. She offered him a smile that was rather more of a baring of teeth. “Well played, Sir James. Fine, _have at it._ ” She could not conceal her annoyance at least, and she looked away to take in the changes that had been made to her cabin.

It had been cleared out of all her curios and books, charts and maps and other personal items. What had once been a sanctuary built of lovely dark wood had now been painted white, rendering it perfectly sterile. Despite her best efforts, unwelcome tears began to moisten the corners of her eyes.

It was as though she’d never been there at all, and this more than any other indignity thus far hit her like a dagger to the heart. Gritting her teeth, she shook her head. “All this cabinetry was custom French walnut, and you idiots have _whitewashed_ it. Was it you who ordered this?”

James’ expression betrayed nothing, though his sigh betrayed all. “No, my lady.”

“Who then?” He did not answer, reluctant to admit he was not in complete control, though a frown formed between his dark brows, and Elizabeth made an _ahhh_ of understanding. “Fitzwilliam, then. He has commandeered her to serve _The Mako,_ I presume?”

“Yes.”

“You see what he’s doing, don’t you? Very clever. I might have tried it myself, in his position.”

James regarded her coolly, though inside his heart still galloped. In the end his curiosity won out. “What is he doing, Pirate King?”

“He’s trying to disguise her by changing her lines. New decks. New figurehead. Unrecognizable exterior _and_ interior. She would bring a pretty penny at a prize auction, if Fitzy could get her there. No ship’s log, no record. However, before she was my _Artemis_ she was Monsieur Roquefort’s _Diane._ Monsieur Roquefort is a very wealthy sugar baron on Martinique, and he has a _long_ memory, believe me. As England is currently at armistice with France he would undoubtedly want her back.”

Such tactics were not unheard of in prize-taking in the Navy, though the dishonesty of it all left a bitter taste in James’ mouth. Furthermore, because it had taken place right beneath his nose. As these realizations fell on him Elizabeth watched him with a small smile. “ _Somebody’s going to be in trouble,_ ” she said in a singsong voice before sliding down from the desk. She caressed the wood with a loving care that belied her nonchalance, a small sigh escaping her.

“I had a chest in here,” she said over her shoulder, her throat suddenly tight. “A black one with brass hardware. It was filled with clothing. I would have it back, if I may, Governor, unless you’d care to just hang me now and get it over with.”

She flinched as his hand touched her shoulder, and yet when he did not retreat she inexplicably leaned back into her touch. He could feel the tremors running through her narrow body, and he wished he could take her into his arms.

But he couldn’t. Not here.

 _Not anywhere,_ he scolded himself, knowing this was a dangerous game he played.

“Of course, Elizabeth. I will have it delivered to the house.”

Elizabeth nodded, and with a final glance about, stalked from the cabin.

Like a woman possessed she paced every inch of the decks, inspecting the repairs and running her hands over the gunwales, nodding and talking to herself, or to her ship, under her breath. The work crew gave her a wide berth, eyeing her warily as though she might be bewitched. James watched from a distance, listening with half an ear as the master carpenter went over the repairs that had been made once more. Fitzwilliam had ordered the changes, and James wondered whose coffers were funding the extra work.

When she paused at the helm, resting her head upon the spokes with _such_ anguish written upon her face, James felt his heart break all over again. “Thank you, Mister Riggs. Excellent work so far.”

Riggs made a knuckle and went back to his work.

“Captain Swann?” James called up, knowing that hearing the title would do her more good than harm. She peered down from the helm, an eyebrow raised in reply. “It’s time to go.” Reluctantly she parted with the wheel, caressing the pegs one last time as a lover would in final parting.

James felt like the most wicked man in the world at seeing her face in that moment. Without a word she allowed herself to be lowered down to the waiting launch in a bosun’s chair, and James and Sheridan climbed down after her.

On the dock captain Captain Fitzwilliam approached, flanked by Lieutenant Toadface and another officer in a Lieutenant’s uniform. Elizabeth bore the sight with an inscrutable face, her expression closed off completely. James hoped his own visage did not betray the dark storm that roiled inside him, and vaguely he wondered which of them wished Fitzwilliam harm more at that moment; she or him.

But surprisingly, Elizabeth bore their company with a stoic face, the thin façade of civility plastered over pure enmity. “Good afternoon Governor, Mister Norrington. Miss Swann,” said Fitzwilliam. “I believe you remember Lieutenant Fox,” who was Toadface. “May I have the pleasure of introducing the new acting captain of _The Artemis,_ Lieutenant Grey?”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at the news, her gaze raking over the Lieutenant skeptically. “Oh, I remember Lieutenant Grey,” she said coolly, leaving James to wonder when they had been acquainted. He did not think the young Lieutenant had been present at her whipping.

“I’m impressed to see you up and about already. It seems the Governor is taking good _care_ of you. We heard the fever nearly carried you off.”

James narrowed his eyes at the thinly veiled insinuation, and found himself fantasizing about what it would be like to introduce Fitzwilliam’s face to his fist, or possibly his belly to a sword. But before he could answer Elizabeth beat him to the cut. “Sorry, but it will take more than a fat bag of wind and a toad faced boy to kill _me_ , Captain Fitzwilliam.”

Fox just pouted stupidly, and a nasty smile pulled at the corner of Fitzwilliam’s mouth. “Indeed? I’m sure other arrangements could be made. Like a nice tight hangman’s noose. Or are you poised to sign a pardon like the rest of your lily-livered Brethren?”

James interjected before things could get too out of hand. “We are amidst negotiations, as it were, not that it is _any_ of your concern.

Rudely Captain Fitzwilliam ignored James, addressing himself to Elizabeth. “And how do you like your _Artemis_ now? I’d say she’s coming along quite well.”

“Yes, you’ve buggered her nicely with that awful shade of yellow,” Elizabeth drawled. “Well done.”

Fitzwilliam offered a gravely chuckle that set her teeth on edge. “Now now, she needed a coat of paint. One must take care of a ship if you expect her to last in these warm waters, as any _real_ Captain knows.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, though James sensed the change in her demeanor out the corner of his eye. She sang with tension, pulled taut as a nocked arrow ready to fire. “She’d just been freshly painted last month, actually,” said Elizabeth cheerfully, gesturing to the journal in James’ hand. “Tis all in the log, of course. If I had to guess, I would reckon you chose that color, which only occurs in nature coming out of a pig’s arse, because the supplier gave you a good deal. Expensive to make all these changes with your own funds on a Captain’s salary, eh? Poor lamb. Unless of course you’re dipping into _The Mako’s_ coffers for personal gain, which if I recall is an offense worthy of a court martial.” She smiled brightly and laced her arm through Sheridan’s. “My, you have _loads_ to discuss with Governor Norrington, don’t you? Come along, dear, the _big powerful men_ have important matters to speak of.”

Sherry allowed her to pull him down the dock, and when he cast a questioning glance back James made a gesture of _go on._ Lieutenant Grey dared tip his hat to the Pirate King as she went past, to which she responded with a rude gesture one usually only encountered in the seediest sectors of town.

The Lieutenant laughed in answer, earning a dirty look from Captain Fitzwilliam. “Was it that goddamn funny?” he spat. “Get yourselves to _The Artemis._ I’ll be there shortly.”

Thoroughly chastised, the Lieutenants slunk away down the dock.

“I am afraid the Pirate King has raised some good points, Captain Fitzwilliam,” said James once they were alone. “How _are_ you paying for these improvements? I only authorized the repair of the mainmast and the yards.”

“I am not _completely_ without resource,” said Fitzwilliam vaguely. “ _Humble_ Captain though I am.”

James knew Fitzwilliam did have a rather substantial private income from his family, but that he would spend it on this seemed doubtful.

“Be that as it may, the additional changes do seem unnecessary.”

“Why, were you planning on returning her pretty boat for a pleasure yacht?” asked Fitzwilliam acerbically. “A lover’s token fit for a reformed Pirate King? I know all about your history with her, you know. You’re not fooling me _one jot._ ”

“I beg your pardon?” James’ voice came cool, even as rage erupted inside him like a flash in a pan. _Never_ in all his years of naval service did anyone ever dare speak to him in such an impertinent manner.

“I will say it plainly, then. You don’t worry yourself about what I’m doing with the Artemis, and _I_ won’t bring it to the Admiralty that you’re fucking the Pirate King in your pretty house up on the hill. A _lovely_ piece of tail, that. Can’t hardly blame you.”

It all happened so quickly James hardly knew it as it transpired. Without a single further thought the Governor’s fist connected with Captain Fitzwilliam’s jaw, sending him sprawling back off the edge of the dock. He made such a splash that most of the activity on the docks paused for a moment, everyone craning their necks to look.

A long period of time passed before Fitzwilliam sputtered to the surface, blood running from his nose. When he opened his mouth James could see the man was now conspicuously missing a front tooth, and the gap in his gums also bled. Calmly James crouched down on the edge of the dock, looking Fitzwilliam dead in the eyes as the portly Captain clumsily tread water below him, coughing blood and sea water.

“You seem a little thick headed, Fitzwilliam, so let me make this perfectly clear. If you disrespect Miss Swann again it will be pistols at dawn for us, and I _never_ miss. You will use _The Artemis_ to patrol these waters until we are sent further relief from the Admiralty, after which she will be returned to Monsieur Roquefort. And maybe your Daddy is an Admiral, but I was in the service for a _long_ fucking time and I have my own share of friends in high places. So do as you’re told and I won’t have you carted to Port Royal in shackles for a proper court martial. Understood?”

Fitzwilliam spat salt water and blood, though not in James’ direction. It seemed he was finally learning.

“Yes, sir,” he grumbled begrudgingly.

“Excellent.” He looked about the water with a raised eyebrow. “You’d better get yourself out of there. Sharks love the hang about these docks, you know.”

James strode off, leaving the Captain to bark as his Lieutenants who had watched the whole debacle from their launch, “What are you looking at? Get the fuck over here!”

A small smile pulled at James’ lips as he walked back down the long dock. That had felt good. _Too good,_ perhaps, and he knew he’d made himself a permanent enemy here. However, that had truly occurred the moment Fitzwilliam laid a finger on Elizabeth. Perhaps the rest of the island would make note as well.

As he approached the quay he found Elizabeth and Sheridan seated upon a couple barrels. She had acquired a short length of rope from somewhere, and seemed to be showing the boy sailor’s knots. James hardly suppressed a smile as quickly she twisted the hemp cord, trapping the lad’s hands in a fool’s knot that served as manacles for a few moments, before he pulled himself free. He laughed with delight and tried to copy her, but could not match her speed.

“ _That_ wasn’t very gentlemanly, James,” she taunted playfully as he approached, calling back to their earlier conversation in her cabin. There was a light shining in her mahogany eyes that had not been there before. In that moment he knew she’d witnessed _everything_ that had occurred between he and Fitzwilliam, and that maybe she’d _liked_ it. A telltale heat warmed his belly once more, and he resisted the temptation to rub his aching hand in front of her.

“No,” he agreed. “But it was deserved.”

Sheridan looked up from his rope. “What happened?”

Elizabeth laughed, and in that moment she seemed impossibly young, her expression so carefree. She was _beautiful,_ and for the umpteenth time that day James felt his heart contract _painfully_ in his chest. “Oh, my dear boy,” she said sweetly, patting Sheridan’s cheek. “At least you’re pretty.”

Sheridan frowned, clearly confused, and James’ mouth twisted in resistance to a wide grin.

It would not do to encourage her.

She already wielded _quite enough_ power here.


	7. Hoist the Colors High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth instigates a tad of insurrection at the fort.

“I need to visit the fort before we return to the house,” said James. “Would you prefer to go home now? You’ve had a taxing day. Sheridan can accompany you.”

Elizabeth shook her head to the contrary. “You might as well show me what you’ve done to my fort too, Governor,” she said with all her usual insouciance. Watching Captain Fitzwilliam lose his front teeth has apparently restored her strength.

“ _Your_ fort?”

She shrugged, but in a way it was true. Nassau had been a pirate stronghold for longer than it had been in the King’s possession by far. “We used to throw the most _magnificent_ parties up there,” she divulged, winning a laugh from Sheridan. That mischievous sparkle returned to her eyes, and James fought not to shake his head. _God help him_.

In town Sheridan trotted ahead to catch up with a well-appointed carriage. A pretty young woman stuck her head out in answer to his hail. The lad was positively animated, sweeping off his hat and smiling like a fool as he bantered with the comely girl.

“Who is _that_?” asked Elizabeth conspiratorially, to which James responded with a sigh.

“That is Miss Constance Dover, the daughter of one of the planters here. Sheridan has taken a shine to her, which is unfortunate because he must take a society bride.”

Elizabeth frowned. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Perhaps not, but he is to be the 13th Baron of Devonshire. It is how things are done.”

Elizabeth shot James a look that was not exactly kind.

As they neared the fort signs of construction became apparent. Carts laden with timber and rocks rolled slowly past, drawn by teams of oxen. Elizabeth recognized several of the workers, and they saluted her with deep nods or knuckles to the forehead. They seemed pleased to see her up and about, whispering amongst each other, a new vigor spreading like wildfire. Rumor of her severe beating had made its way through all the pirate prisoners. James wondered if somehow she had anticipated this reaction to her resurrection too, and decided to proceed with caution.

“Enrique Chavez!” she hailed, and a swarthy man leading a team of oxen looked up from the road.

“Capitan Swann! You look well, Your Highness.” His English was good, if not accented.

“Thank you. It was touch and go for a while there but now I have a lovely set of stripes to show for it.”

Chavez’s smile was like a baring of teeth, and he shot an unkind look at the Governor riding beside her. “You’ll be in good company with any of us who have ever served in the Navy. You are taking the air? Lovely day for a ride.” There was much irony in his statement, as he and all her men were in chains doing hard labor, and she was decidedly more free. He clearly was curios if she’d taken the pardon.

“Yes, I’ve been allowed out of house arrest for the day,” she teased in Castilian with a sideways look at James. The Governor’s subsequent frown told her all she needed to know. She knew James spoke perfect French, but Spanish did not seem to be in his repertoire. In rapid fire Spanish she said, “To the devil with their pardon. Tell the lads to build the fort strong. We’ll have a fine citadel for ourselves when we take it back.”

Whatever it was she said, James could see that it sat exceedingly well with the man. He returned to his work with a wide smile, and a seeming spring in his step, if that was possible for a burly man who must have weighed sixteen stone.

“Who was that?” demanded James.

“Just a friend,” said Elizabeth. She left out that he was also her trusted quartermaster on _The Artemis_.

“And?”

She batted her long lashes innocently. “ _And_ , Sir James?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and sighed when she did not relent. What harm could she have possibly done with only a few sentences?

If only he knew.

She began to hum a tune as they rode, softly at first, but it grew in volume as they neared the fort. And then inexplicably the working men picked it up too, and began singing boisterously as they labored. Soon the whole fort was alive with pirates singing, and the Marines on duty looked rather spooked by this sudden burst of morale.

 

_Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colors high!_

_Heave ho, thieves and beggars,_

_Never shall we die!_

_The King and her men sail the blue Caribee,_

_We fly the skull an’ bones,_

_The seas be ours and by the powers_

_Where we will we’ll roam._

_Yo ho, all hands, hoist the colors high!_

_Heave ho, thieves and beggars,_

_Never shall we die!_

_The King and her men will always be free,_

_We hail from Shipwreck Cove,_

_We’ll rob you blind with no look behind,_

_Steady as she blows!_

 

There were several more stanzas hailing the Pirate King and her merry thieves’ exploits, which were all sung with increasing enthusiasm.

“What is going on?” James asked Elizabeth quietly, his hand straying closer to the butt of his pistol.

“Men can’t sing while they work?” she asked coyly, fluttering her lashes innocently.

This time her feminine wiles did _not_ dazzle him.

“ _What_ are they singing?”

“Tis the Song of the Brethren, James. Don’t you know our national anthem?”

“A ragtag island of pirates is _not_ a nation,” James argued. His horse stomped nervously, picking up on the uneasiness in his master’s voice.

“Said the butterfly to the hurricane,” answered Elizabeth quietly, smirking as she watched two brawny men haul a stone into place with renewed vigor, as though it weighed nothing. A crackling energy filled the fort, and a chill ran down his spine. The pirates no longer worked with heads hanging in defeat, but defiantly met the gaze of the soldiers and the foreman. The ones who held tools for cutting the rock held them rather menacingly, looking to their masters with challenge in their eyes.

James feared he’d made a great mistake in bringing her here. Just her mere _presence_ seemed enough to renew hope in these men, and that could be a dangerous thing.

“Governor?” asked the Sergeant Marshall, eyeing the pirates with fear in his eyes. All of the red-coats gripped their weapons with white knuckles, eyeing the pirates as though faced by a horde of bogeymen.

“It’s alright,” said James, making a calming gesture with his hands, the universal signal for _stand down._ “Elizabeth, if you would please tell them to stop? They are spooking the men with guns. I don’t think I need to tell you that is a bad idea.”

Elizabeth canted her head as she regarded him. Her smile was sweet and smug, but her eyes glinted like daggers. _This_ was the Pirate King, he realized, and he’d been a fool to underestimate her.

“You want _me_ to command them? But they’re _your_ prisoners, Governor. I thought all my authority had been revoked.”

Sheridan picked that moment to finally join them, looking around the keep wide eyed. Even he could not miss the hostile energy crackling in the air.

“What’s going on?”

James did not answer him, and his horse sidestepped nervously, not liking the threatening atmosphere in the fort in the least. “ _Elizabeth._ ” There was an edge of desperation in his scolding, and her devilish grin only widened.

“Elizabeth?” It was Sheridan this time, and when she turned to find his young face filled with fear she seemed to deflate, _a little._ Elizabeth sighed softly; only James heard it.

After what seemed an eternity she finally turned to her Brethren, raising a hand.

“Oi!” she barked, in a commanding voice that somehow raised above all the din. “Avast that caterwauling, you villains. You’re scaring the Lobsters.”

Almost immediately the pirates ceased singing, but their grins remained. They were the smiles of a pack of hungry wolves, teeth gleaming sharp. Some of the tension subsided, but not much. Several of the Marines glared at Elizabeth, unappreciative of her little nickname for them, a look of which she coolly returned with disdain.

“How _trite_ , Pirate King,” said James, trying not to let on how relieved he was that the situation seemed to have diffused at her word.

Theatrically she sighed. “I know, I know. Holiday’s over, back to gaol I go?” She held out her wrists as though for shackles, and vaguely she echoed the words of another pirate from their pasts, of whom James had learned the hard way to _never_ trust.

James realized in that moment that she _wanted_ to go back to the cell in the Fort. That she thought she could instigate an uprising there, with him far away from the proceedings. Indignant anger flared in him, that she thought him such a willing fool.

And yet, he supposed he could hardly blame her, after playing so perfectly into her hands up until this point.

“No,” he answered coolly. “You will return with me. Good day, gentlemen.”

Elizabeth hesitated as he turned his horse to go, nodding for her to follow him with a forbidding look. But a few beats later she came quietly. He was glad she spared him the spectacle of chasing her around the keep of the fort on horseback. That would have just made the day.

As she drew up beside him he informed her in a low tone, “If you had been anyone else, Elizabeth, I would have had you shot for that little stunt.”

She only smirked in reply. “If _you_ had been anyone else, Sir James, I would have had my fort back today.”

James reckoned her mercy that day had nothing to do with _him,_ but the possibility of young Sheridan caught in the crossfire. She inexplicably seemed to have taken a liking to the boy, and James tried to think of how this could be used to further advantage, even as the most ridiculous flare of jealousy plagued him.

For the moment, it seemed the Governor and the Pirate King found themselves locked in a stalemate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah ha ha, ok ok I'm sorry about the song. I couldn't help myself. ;) I thought maybe they would adapt it a bit, after freeing Calypso. :D I'll be the first to admit I'm not a musical person though, so if you can think of some better stanzas feel free to share!!


	8. Incriminating Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Locked doors and drawers prove no obstacle to the Pirate King.

She did not come down for dinner or breakfast for several days. Elizabeth managed to avoid him very well in a modest house, though there were signs of her everywhere. Curios in the parlor slightly out of place, and books left upon on the settee. Though she did not wear perfume, James was so hyper-aware of her presence that he fancied he could almost _smell_ her in the places he knew that she’d been. After her stunt at the fort he should have been cross, but the only rancor he could muster was an acute ache just above his heart.

He heard her conversing and laughing boisterously with the help in the kitchen, and it became apparent how she’d managed not to starve. He stopped to listen at the door, and she seemed to converse with the house negroes Rebecca and Joe in what he assumed was their native language.

Later he spied her taking the air with Sheridan in the garden, and from the window of his office James watched them walk together and laugh over something. It was _insane_ the sum that James would have given to trade places with his nephew in that moment.

When James decided to come home for tea the next day he told himself it was for Cook's excellent biscuits and not because he hoped to catch a glimpse of Elizabeth when she was not expecting him to be around.

James decided to wait in his study while Cook prepared the tray, and was surprised to find the door unlocked. Upon entering he found Elizabeth curled in his leather chair, looking quite forlorn. She wore a loose white lawn shirt unbuttoned at the throat, and a pair of well-worn breeches. Upon seeing him in the doorway she immediately straightened, caught red handed.

"Governor, you're home early."

"I do believe this door was locked?" he inquired politely, seemingly unfazed to find her there, even though he felt as though a bolt of lightning shot down his spine.

"It was, though I’m afraid not terribly well." It took something more complex than a run-of-the-mill door lock to keep the King of Pirates out. Jack had taught her to pick locks _very_ well.

“And what exactly brings you in here?”

“Oh…just looking for something interesting to read. I was hoping you had a gentleman’s library secreted away in here.” A dark eyebrow raised at the suggestion that he might have a stash of banned and lewd books in a secret nook.

“I’m afraid my shelves are sparse at the moment.” Space on the crossing had been tight, and he’d only been able to bring a single trunk of books, mostly treatises on politics, philosophy, and the classics.

As James neared closer he noticed a leaf of parchment clasped loosely between her fingers, and he _froze_. It was torn and stained by all manners of substances from salt water to blood, wrinkled and creased from traveling the world in the inside breast pocket of his coat. Far more incriminating as to his weaknesses than a _gentleman’s_ collection of pornography locked away in a closet, it was a paper he’d kept close like a Lady’s kerchief bestowed upon her Knight Champion.

“And _that_ was certainly locked away in my desk,” he said, his quickened breath betraying his tumult inside.

This letter he would have recognized anywhere, and he knew the words within as well as the exterior:

 

_Dearest James,_

_By the time you read this I will be gone. I have embarked entirely of my own free will, without coercion or even much persuasion on the parts of my cohorts. I have had a taste of real adventure on the high seas, and it is a dish I now crave with insatiable hunger. Had I been born a man this taste for adventure would be encouraged and I should have my chance to make my mark on the world, but having the misfortune of being born into a woman’s body has placed intolerable restrictions upon my person. Though I do not quite think it fair to say I have the soul of a man, for we both know there are plenty of men who are perfect cowards, and I do protest the notion that women are the weaker sex, I do believe I am made of stronger stuff than your average female is given credit for._

_Please, I implore you not to take this as a personal insult, dear James, for I have never spoken truer words when I told you that you are a fine man. You are brave and honorable and true, an individual of the highest caliber, and frankly I do not deserve you. I do know that you are fond of me, but I am certain you will find a bride far better suited to your needs. Someone gentle and doting, who will keep your house and bear your children gladly. I fear I would not make a good wife to you. I am not suited to the domestic arts. I have no interest in menus or decoration or entertaining. I am not made to sit by the window primly with needlework in hand and wait for you to return home from sea; there I would wither and die. Such a life would only fill me with resentment, and you would be the undeserved recipient, for I know you offered matrimony only with the best of intentions._

_There is but one aspect of married life that perhaps I would have enjoyed learning to please you. How improper of me to say it – but I am running away to become a pirate, so why not speak my mind plainly? You are handsome and dashing and more than once your large hands on my waist have been the source of a sleepless night after a ball, and I do regret that is an adventure we will not have together._

_I will tell you something else. Your smile is a fleeting but lovely thing to behold, like a rare bird racing through the canopy, there and gone. I would have liked to see it more. Promise me when you find a bride that you will smile for her? You will melt her heart, surely, when she sees that curl of lips and accompanying glitter in your green eyes._

_I close this letter considering you a friend, yet I am not so naïve as to think should we meet again that we could meet as friends. And so I implore you not to look for me, dear James. I shall be in good hands, and it would be best to let me go. Please know it was never my intention to hurt you or play you false. I simply feel that I must follow my heart in the matter of my own destiny, and my heart leads me to the freedom of the sea. Take care of yourself, James. You deserve all the best._

_Fondly and sincerely,_

_Elizabeth_

 

Thoroughly caught, his heart dropped to his feet. Her soft voice cut through the sudden ringing in his ears. "I can't believe you've kept this all this time." There was no cruelty or mockery in her words; only a soft wonder that inspired honesty in the Governor.

"It was all I had of you," he answered truthfully, his eyes cast to the floor.

"You must have thought me a forward young thing. I almost forgot how lewd I was in this missive." A ghost of her usual smile pulled at her lips.

"Perhaps I am no better than a common cad, but your words kept me warm on many a cold night at sea."

A long silence drew out between them. Finally Elizabeth shook her head, her voice raised barely above a whisper. "Oh James. You're going to have to let me go."

James felt his palms go clammy, his hands clenched in fists behind his back. The thundering of his heart added to the high pitched note that droned in his ears. Finally he found the courage to answer, "That's a horrible thing to ask of me, you know. To send the only woman I've ever loved to her death."

He did not think it possible, but his heart beat _twice_ as hard now, making a solid go at hammering right out of his chest. He'd _never_ admitted his feelings aloud to her, which seemed ridiculous considering they had once been engaged, but it was true.

"You can't really love me still. It's been so long. No man loves a woman _that_ faithfully for this long." There was bitterness in her tone that inspired a frown to crease his brow, and if ever given the chance he would have liked to thrash whoever had hurt her so deeply. The blacksmith, or some other brigand? He would probably never know.

“No _pirate,_ perhaps.”

Elizabeth offered her own dark look. “Pirate, privateer, officer, commoner or king. It’s _not_ possible.”

A huff of indignant laughter escaped him, and he looked out the window over her head, unable to meet the intensity of her gaze. A brightly colored bird lighted in a bush in the garden. Vaguely he wondered what it was. He hardly recognized his own voice as he assured her simply, "It is possible, I assure you."

She seemed immensely annoyed in that moment, swiping angrily at the corners of her eyes. " _I_ am a _pirate_!"

"So you are."

"You don't even _know_ me. Not really."

This assertion cut him deeply, and he fought not to flinch as though she’d physically struck him. "I'm sorry you think that. No wonder you ran. But I never wanted to trap you, you know. I loved your spirit and I would have let you have free reign. You burned _so_ bright, and I just...like Prometheus, I suppose I just wanted some of that fire for myself. I'm sorry."

Elizabeth seemed at a loss. At last, he’d managed to render her speechless. He did not use his position of power to try to leverage her into his bed, as most men would have. He hadn’t even pleaded for her favor this whole time, but simply _begged_ that she would _save her own life_ by signing a silly piece of paper.

She looked away, her lower lip quivering, her doe’s eyes bright with moisture. "You need never apologize to the likes of me, James."

"That's a dangerous thing to tell a man."

"You are the only one I would dare tell it, believe me."

For some reason he seemed almost offended by her good opinion of him. Perhaps because gentlemen interested her not; it was _rogues_ who caught her eye and always had. "I know you think me a fool. But I assure you, I am no saint."

"Perhaps not. But you are a fine man. That is one thing I said that was true."

James shook his head. He wanted to grab this woman up and kiss her within an inch of her life, and _then_ see what she called him. Instead he approached her slowly, as one would address a wild animal startled in the woods. She did not move from the chair, and he reclaimed the note she wrote him so long ago, folding it carefully and tucking it into his jacket, where it belonged.

"Still going to hold on to it, are you?"

"Until you should see fit to write me another," he admitted with a mournful smile. The _pain_ in his emerald eyes, even as he put on a brave face, as he _always_ did, unexpectedly struck Elizabeth like a dagger to the heart.

Elizabeth suddenly stood from his chair, and surprised him when she took his large hand in hers, kissing his knuckles reverently. They were still bruised from his altercation with Fitzwilliam, and it was no mistake she chose _that_ hand. He stood flabbergasted as she briefly pressed her cheek to his palm, closing her eyes for just a moment.

“I was looking for my journal,” she confessed. He’d already suspected as much.

“It’s not here.”

“I know. I would have found it. But…I want you to read it now. I give you my permission. Have a look in my dark corners, James Norrington, and _then_ we’ll see what you think of me. Perhaps it will set you free.”

She reached up to touch the side of his face gently, finding him completely flummoxed, his heart in his throat. Without further word she fled the room, and he did not dare chase her.


	9. Grab It With Both Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Pirate King finds Sir James' breaking point.

Dinner time found James Norrington in a foul mood. He expressed this mostly in silence, frowning at his food and responding to Sheridan’s questions and quips with monosyllabic answers. Seeing that his Uncle was in no mood to converse, the boy soon took to eating in silence, the only sounds in the room the ting and scratch of silver flatware on bone china.

Several factors through the day had contributed to the Governor’s ill humour, the invasion of his study only the start of it. To add further insult to injury, James had attempted to read a little of the hallowed journal after returning home from town, as directed by Her Nibs.

Whence he found he did not even have the courage to crack the cover.

He had loved this woman faithfully for what felt like the better portion of his life, and yet the gauntlet she had thrown before him left him frozen with fear.

_Know me._

It was as though she was certain that if he read this tome he would no longer be able to look her in the eye. He would leave her in peace and let her march to the gallows without further trouble. This love had been a part of him for so long, he did not know who he would be without it.

Perhaps worse, what if he read of her awful deeds and simply did not care? Which would be the greater sin?

Elizabeth came late to dinner that night dressed in a cobalt blue silk gown of some Oriental fashion, embroidered with gold threads. It was tailored and sleek and suited her svelte form to perfection. Her trunk had been delivered earlier that day, and returned after the removal of three pistols, several knives, and a vial James suspected was most likely poison. He expected they would be seeing all kinds of modes of dress from around the world in the next week.

Millie, of course, could be heard all the way down the hall begging her to wear something _more suitable._ The Pirate King jovially rebuffed the maid’s admonishments, going so far as to put her arm around the fussy girl in an embrace, before sweeping into the room like some Empress of the Ming court. Thoroughly scandalized, the girl stomped off in a huff, muttering under her breath that she’d never seen such a sorry state of a household.

James and Sheridan immediately stood, and the boy seemed particularly pleased to have livelier company at the dinner table, as well as intrigued by her choice in fashion. His grey eyes shone bright with amusement, and flicked between his uncle and Elizabeth knowingly. Once seated he could not contain himself, blurting, “What _are_ you wearing?”

“This old thing? Just something I picked up in Singapore.”

Much of the rest of the evening passed by Sheridan’s eager questions and Elizabeth telling stories of her travels and the colorful characters she had encountered. Apparently a pirate named Sao Feng had once mistaken her for a goddess and she had been made captain of a Chinese junk named _the Empress_ upon his death. Sheridan listened to all this with wide and shining eyes, and James feared the impression it might leave on the boy.

Of course, James too was entranced by her tales, and left feeling equally raw. Every wild story she told, every happy and dangerous adventure that must have had at least had a _grain_ of truth to it, was evidence of all he would have failed to give her had she married him. He spoke of intending to give her _freedoms_ , which would have meant extra pin money to buy whatever thing in the market she liked and leave to have little excursions while he was working at the fort.

Until they had children, of course.

But she had travelled the world, fought the EITC and won, tangled with deities and sea creatures of every ilk, become a King of Thieves the equal of Ali Baba himself and built a true metropolis from the rotting flotsam that was Shipwreck Cove—a _full_ life she’d led, _without_ him.

Sensing that she was monopolizing the evening, Elizabeth turned the conversation to Sheridan’s arena. “So, Sherry, tell me about the girl you were mooning over in the carriage yesterday. Who is she?”

The boy colored a little, a small secret smile pulling at his cheeks. He poked at the fish upon his plate with his silver fork, fleetingly glancing at James before answering, “That was Miss Dover,” he answered shyly, the first sign of _any_ reserve Elizabeth had yet to see in the boy. “She belongs to a planter family in the interior here.”

Elizabeth ignored James’ pointed glare and went on, “Oh? What’s she like?”

Sheridan’s smile broke like the sun through the clouds. “She’s lovely. And intelligent, spirited, and quite cheeky for a girl. She makes me laugh.”

The Pirate King couldn’t help but smile at the obvious signs of calf love in this boy, even if James shot daggers in her direction. “Indeed? Any chance of a match?”

Sheridan colored an even deeper rouge, a seemingly genetic trait amongst the Norringtons. With a careful glance at his Uncle, who by his stormy expression obviously disapproved of this tack in the conversation, he answered, “No, I fear not. She is…well….”

“Beneath you?” Elizabeth supplied with an arched brow.

“So I am told.” Sheridan himself did not seem convinced.

“Sheridan is much too young for marriage at the moment,” James intervened, hoping to nip this mischief in the bud. “He has other concerns.”

Of course Elizabeth ignored him, throwing out, “You could always kidnap her.”

Sheridan laughed aloud, sputtering a bit on his wine. He could not tell if the Pirate King was serious or not.

James knew that she was _entirely_ earnest.

Later, after the boy had retired and James offered to escort Elizabeth back to her room, he admonished, “I wish you wouldn’t fill the boy’s head with such nonsense. It’s one thing to tease me, but he’s only two and twenty and just might take you seriously.”

Elizabeth thought of all the things she’d done by the time she was a mere _two and twenty_ , and smiled. “You can’t shelter him forever, _Uncle_ _James_. Someone must tell him the way of the world.”

“Do you _truly_ think me such a fool?”

There was a rare edge to his voice that took Elizabeth aback, and she parried with sharp words of her own. “Of course I don’t think you’re a fool. I _do_ think you’re in a sour mood for no reason. Let the boy decide. You may advise him to let love pass him by, and _I_ will tell him to grab it with both hands. We’ll see whose counsel he prefers.”

A bitter laugh escaped James, for her words struck so close to home. This woman who he had loved at such a great distance for so long was _upon his arm,_ and yet still somehow she was so out of reach. “Is _that_ how I failed to win you?”

“For a start.”

“ _Fine_.” James took her completely by surprise when he grabbed her up and kissed her, _hard,_ all the frustration of the day, the past, and the long lonely years coming to the fore. He pressed her against the wall with the fury of his ardor, pausing only to dictate, “I did _not_ let you pass me by. I _slaved_ to make myself worthy of you. Prize after prize, promotion after promotion, _dreaming_ of the day that I could come home to your embrace. And after _all that_ hard work, that impetuous young blacksmith just snatched you up like a crumpet, easy as you please.”

Elizabeth gasped for breath. Most women would have been intimidated by a fire-eyed James Norrington looming over them in such a state, but she met him head on, equally infuriated and titillated. “You were already worthy of me, James. More than worthy. I was just a _girl_. But you did not court me at all. I fancied you and you practically _ignored_ me for years. Then, you courted my _father,_ behind my back. That is where you went wrong. That is how you lost me to a blacksmith _and_ a pirate.”

The fact that she included both of their damned names in that way—Turner _and_ Sparrow…James thought of two sets of browned calloused hands on her fair skin, touching her _everywhere_ he had never been allowed, making her sigh _their_ names. It was too much to bear, and furiously he kissed her again, his grip on her waist hard enough to bruise. This went on until a very sharp pain woke him from his frenzy; he jerked back, touching his lip. She’d _bitten_ him, and his fingers came away stained with blood.

“My apologies. I thought you would like it rough, with your predilection for pirates.”

“There’s not a pirate in all the seven seas who would _ever_ dare kiss me like a whore,” she spat, pushing at his chest. He stumbled back, suddenly feeling quite ashamed of himself. James looked away, his jaw clenched, shaking with anger and grief.

He’d never allowed himself to mourn her loss, he realized. He’d always held her so close to his heart, never letting go. And now he was faced with a choice that would _force_ him to finally relinquish her, _to a hangman’s noose_.

It was all too much.

As he realized how deplorably he’d behaved he shook his head, retreating another step. “I beg your pardon. My God, I…” His voice was rough and filled with despair, and Elizabeth felt herself soften once more. She had not made this easy on poor James, that was for sure.

She never had.

Even more surprising, she would have _liked_ to kiss him, had he not seemed more intent on _devouring_ her with his teeth than plying her with lips and tongue.

He would have fled had she not reached out, gentle fingers clasping his arm, and he found himself frozen to the spot. “James, wait.” The Governor turned, and before he could say another word she cradled his face in her hands and stood on tiptoe to kiss him gently, a lingering kiss that shook his soul.

Carefully his hands found her again, holding her as a lover should, his large paws nearly spanning her tiny waist. A small sound escaped her as they kissed, and her arms encircled his neck, holding him close. When at last they separated James gasped for breath, burying his nose in her hair. He could have laughed, or wept, or both, but instead he just stood there trembling with this enigma of a woman in his arms.

“What am I to do with you?” he asked desperately, such a haunted look in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “But this isn’t such a bad development.” Again she craned her neck for a kiss, and utterly helpless, he obliged her, exploring her lips gently with his own. She could taste the blood on the inside of his mouth, but it did not put her off. Indeed, she’d never imagined he bottled so much passion up inside. It left her mightily intrigued, and slowly she insinuated her tongue between his lips, curious if he might lose himself a little again.

He did not get the chance, however. Had the pair not been so preoccupied with snogging in the hall they might have heard the approach of footsteps. As it was, only an exclamation of “Oh!” alerted them that they had in fact been caught.

Mortified, James jerked back to find Sheridan in the hallway, grinning like a madman at the sight before him. Only a few seconds later did the boy seem to grasp that his interruption was _quite_ unwelcome. Elizabeth, of course, was slightly less on edge for being discovered, though for James’ sake she disentangled herself.

“I…beg your pardon.” Sheridan could think of nothing else to say, and so he bobbed his head, and turned on his heel to retreat quickly in the opposite direction.

“Oh dear,” said Elizabeth, pressing her lips to suppress a smile. This proved a ticklish situation indeed.

“Now you _must_ take the pardon,” he ground out, raising a hand to straighten his wig.

Elizabeth huffed with hands on her hips. “Or _you_ must become a pirate. This is as embarrassing for me as it is for you, _Governor_ Norrington.”

James shot her a sharp look, green eyes narrowed. She raised an eyebrow in reply, smiled impishly, and went to her room without looking back.


	10. Worth His Weight in Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is surprised by what he finds in the Pirate King's journal.

James raised his head to a soft knock on the door of his study. It was late, _very_ late, and he feared it might be Elizabeth on the other side. Perhaps he was a coward, but he simply was not ready to face her again so soon. However, his consent of “Come,” revealed Sheridan.

“I warn you I am in no mood for your cheek,” said James coolly, closing the book in his hand. He had stacks more of books on his desk, all of which had come from the cabin of _The Artemis_. He thought to look through these first, putting off the task of the journal. He would need at least one more snifter of brandy before tackling that, he’d decided.

“I did not come here to offer any,” said the boy, looking uncharacteristically penitent. “Only my apologies.”

James sighed heavily, placing the book upon the desk, covering up the journal that sat like an accusation upon his blotter. “Well. I can hardly admonish you for making use of the hallway, now can I?”

A small smile pulled at the corners of the boy’s mouth before Sheridan banished it into a more stoic façade. “I promise that you have my discretion.”

Again, the Governor sighed, unable to meet Sheridan’s eyes. “Thank you.” He at least mustered the dignity to refrain from explaining himself.

“But…” James dreaded what lay on the other side of the boy’s pause. He let it drag on, daring to enter the room further. “I think you still love her.”

“Worked that out, did you?”

Sheridan’s lips quirked again. “And she seems to be fond of you also…”

“I pray you arrive at a point soon, Sheridan.”

“Why not marry her?”

James closed his eyes. Too much. This was all too _bloody_ much. “It’s not that simple, I assure you.”

“I think it could be.”

“She won’t take the pardon.”

“Make her.”

“Ha! I _can’t_.”

“Take her own advice and kidnap her then. I like her. Do you know the clout I’ll have at the club if the Pirate King is my _Auntie_? I’ll never pay for another drink in all my life with that story.”

James shot his nephew a pained look. He knew the boy was trying to lessen the blow with humour, but sometimes he simply wanted to _shake_ him.

Sheridan browsed the spines of the books stacked on James’ desk, and curiously pulled one with a jagged and looping script on the cover. The inside did not have pages so much as a folded folio that expanded. The contents caused the boy’s eyebrows to shoot sky high and his eyes widened to the size of saucers. “ _Oh my_.”

James craned his neck to look at the page, curious, and then _shocked._ They were drawings of men and women in various positions of coitus. Some _very creative_ positions, by his reckoning. “Good God. Close that up at once.”

Chuckling, Sheridan did so, stealing one last peek before shutting the cover. “I see you’re already doing research on married life!”

“These are _her_ books,” James hissed. “I was only going over them.”

“ _Indeed_.”

With a groan James hung his head in his hands. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Sheridan’s laughter died to a chuckle. “Probably. There was one more thing I wanted to ask you.”

James made a gesture with his hands as though to say _fire away._ His nephew clasped his hands before himself, the very picture of a well-behaved young man. “May I _please_ invite the Dovers to dinner?”

James drummed his fingers upon his blotter, obviously reluctant to agree to this idea. “Glutton for punishment, are you? Take my advice. Stay away from that girl, Sherry. It will make it easier when it is time to go home.”

Sheridan raised an eyebrow as though to say James was not the best personage from whom to take advice in matters of the heart. And he was absolutely right, of course.

“I’m hardly planning on seducing her in the garden with her whole family here,” huffed the boy. “I just…enjoy her company. I’ve never met anyone like her before. This is the only adventure I’m ever going to have, you know. I had to _beg_ father to let me come here. When I go home to London I’m probably going to be married off to some horse-faced heiress who will only care for my name and the pedigree of her puppies.”

James sighed, sympathetic to the boy’s duties as the heir. It was a burden that he was glad to have escaped as the second son.

“That is unkind. You might make a match with a fine lady who you come to love.”

Sheridan huffed at the idea, picking at his fingernails.

“Dinner,” James finally agreed. “Dinner, but that is _all_ , do you hear me? No monkey business, or your father will have my hide.”

The boy’s smile rendered him positively radiant. “Thank you, Uncle James! Shall I…or perhaps you should…”

“I will arrange it.”

“Thank you!” Sheridan spun in a circle, and it was hard for James not to smile. At least _someone_ in this damned house was happy to a certain degree.

“Now if you would excuse me, I have some reading to do.”

Sheridan’s grin was replaced by a sly smile, his eyes flicking to the improper tome. “May I borrow—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Very well. Good night!” He veritably _skipped_ out the door, and James poured himself another brandy, resigning himself to the task ahead.

 

**XXX**

 

Elizabeth’s journal was not the most conventional diary, not that James was surprised. It did not list orderly dates and events that happened that day in a chronological fashion. It was not a missing ship’s log. It read more like a dream set down on paper, a surrealist work of art, sporadic paragraphs recounting events, emotions and lines of poetry crossing the page in between bright drawings of people and places and things, pressed flowers, even a _snake skin_ on one page.

James certainly did not understand all of it, and some was even seemingly written in code. But little by little, he was able to sew together the patches to form the colorful fabric that had been her life since she left Port Royal.

Jack Sparrow featured prominently, even more so than the blacksmith, to James’ surprise. During the debacle with the East India Trading Company the boy had befallen some fate James did not exactly understand. Like any mariner he knew of the Flying Dutchman, surely, but what that could have to do with William Turner? There were drawings of a heart and a chest and a note that said _See you in ten years, Will Turner._

He couldn’t make out any of it.

It seemed the kohl-eyed pirate had become a source of great joy and pain over the course of Elizabeth’s life as King. _Jack Sparrow_ she wrote again and again. _My greatest love, my worst enemy._ Apparently fidelity was a relative term for Jack Sparrow, if not a meaningless one. He would not sacrifice his freedom, not even for _her,_ and time and again the call of adventure or another woman’s bed drew Jack away even after some promise had been made.

But when they were happy together—James ground his teeth as he read certain private recollections of their intimate moments. He knew he should have skipped those pages, but he just could _not_ tear his eyes away, leaving him simultaneously infuriated and titillated, a voyeur looking through the window of their lives. Some pages were decidedly sensual, torrid, _pornographic_ even, but many simply detailed the joy in small things a man and woman might share when living together, pirates or no.

James knew jealousy, certainly, that his nemesis was able to share such a wondrous life with Elizabeth. And yet one page in particular left him especially thinking that Jack Sparrow was the greatest fool to ever walk this earth. _Farewell, Jack Sparrow,_ Elizabeth wrote next to a sketch of the Pearl sailing off towards a setting sun. _This time I won’t take you back._ Apparently the pirate had left to find the Fountain of Youth with a young blonde thing ten years Elizabeth’s junior, and the Pirate King decided this would be the _last_ time she let him break her heart. The tears that stained the page inspired great sympathy in the Governor’s heart, and yet…also a relief of which he was not exactly proud of.

There were descriptions of prizes that were taken, capers exacted, political maneuvers made. Thwarted attempts on her life even, as any King is bound to endure. She caused havoc in the Spanish Main and freed black slaves at every opportunity. She made war on the ships bearing the precious cargo of sugar to Europe and the Americas, hoping to break the barons with loss of profit and astronomical insurance premiums. The Pirate King distributed offers of truce on the condition that the plantation owners would offer their slaves freedom or the option to work for a decent wage. A radical move on her part, and of course the offer was only answered with threats and gnashing teeth.

Throughout all these brave escapades James found no vile acts of villainy that raised the alarm in James’ heart, or frankly even anything worse than he himself had done upon a Royal Navy ship. The thing that haunted James within those pages was no evil deed, but an act of mercy so grand that the Governor’s hands shook as he turned the pages.

_It couldn’t be._

But how would she have known?

Well, she _was_ the Pirate King.

The gray light of dawn had begun to creep through the windows when James slipped into Elizabeth’s room, laying the journal upon her bedside table. This intrusion was already a grave violation of propriety, and yet he could not stop himself from pausing to watch her in sleep, just a little. She was lovely, of course. So lovely it _hurt_. He found himself sinking to his knees beside her bed. “Elizabeth?” he whispered.

“I warn you, James Norrington, I am _not_ a morning person.” Though she did not open her eyes she sounded perfectly alert, and he reckoned she’d been awake since he walked through the door.

“Did you really do it?” he pressed.

“It is always my first impulse to deny involvement when posed that question.”

Ignoring her cheek, he asked again, “Did you really ransom me from Ahmed ibn Rashid?”

In his pursuit of the Barbary pirates James had been taken prisoner by this infamous corsair, a chieftain of thieves who was known for taking whole villages on the coast of Italy away to the Ottoman slave markets. He was also noted for his special tortures of Navy officers that left them decidedly less _a man_ than when they were first captured. James had never been more frightened in his life than when he and his men had been captured by Rashid, certain they would all be made galley slaves and worse.

He would have much preferred a good old fashioned Christian hanging.

Even _more_ confounding, after a holding period in the dank brig of a galley that was just long enough to let their imaginations percolate, he and his men had been treated well in their captivity for months before they were mysteriously released.

“Ah, that.” There was a long pause, and Elizabeth shifted in the bed so that her head was closer to James’. “You can truthfully say you really are worth your weight in gold, Governor Norrington. Congratulations.”

The meaning of her words left him speechless for several long moments. He’d thought it strange when Rashid weighed him on the scales at the docks after a hearty meal. Now the reason for it dawned.

“My weight in gold…Elizabeth I weigh almost _fourteen stone_.”

“Do you now? I decidedly recall paying seventeen. Thought you’d gotten quite portly in your old age. Lucky you, business is good at the Cove.”

She seemed to think this was all rather amusing, but James was _floored_ by the sum she had paid _._ He remembered what ibn Rashid had said upon telling him of their release. The fiend had laughed and declared, “Tis good to live under the protection of the King!”

At the time James had thought he referred to King George, but now it was all made clear.

“Why did you not _tell_ me?” James hissed, his eyes wide in the darkness.

She only shrugged in response.

“I was _knighted_ after returning home from that caper!”

“As well you should have been. No one has ever been more deserving of it than you, James.”

“Elizabeth!” He seemed at an utter loss, and she reached out to touch his cheek, hoping to calm him. She felt a telling wetness there, and her heart crumbled a little.

“Oh sweetheart, you deserved your knighthood. You did, you surely did.”

“That is not…” He made a frustrated sound deep in his throat, and when he finally found his voice it was ragged with emotion. “You would have let me go on _forever_ without knowing. You made me think I would find something _terrible_ in those pages, and instead I only...”

 _Love you more_ hung unsaid in the air.

She rested her head on her arm, stroking his hair soothingly. Thick and soft, it was a pleasure to run her fingers through. Why he insisted on covering it with a wig was beyond her. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” The anguish in his tone was palpable. “ _Why_?”

“You seem distressed.”

“ _Why_ did you do it?”

“You cannot think I would want any harm to come to you? From the Med to the Caribbee to the South China Sea, all pirates know not to touch a hair on the head of James Norrington or face _my_ wrath.”

James thought of how many times a seemingly well-armed pirate vessel had run from a fight rather than stand and deliver upon seeing his colors. He’d thought it cowardice at the time, but could it be that they had feared _her_ more than him?

It was certainly possible.

He also could not help but think of the awful scars that now crisscrossed her back. Her power had stretched across an ocean and a sea to save him, but he could not keep her from harm on a _small island_ where he ruled in the King's stead. He pressed his cheek into her hand, closing his eyes. “What am I to do with you?” he asked again, for what seemed the umpteenth time.

“Do what you must, James. It will be alright.” He marveled that she did not seem to fear her fate _at all._ What was this woman made of? For surely it could not be mere flesh and bone.

He shook his head, knowing he could not give her up. _Especially_ not now. Not so some fat self-righteous monarch could make an example of her, when she was every bit the King she claimed to be.

Seeing he was at a loss, and assuming he had not yet been to bed, Elizabeth sat up against her headboard. “Come here,” she invited, holding out her arms, and though her words were soft there was no doubt it was an order. However, James froze in place, as though it only just dawned on him that he was in a lady’s room at four in the morning, and perhaps it was not exactly proper.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Just for a little while, then I’ll kick you out. Can’t have Millie finding you in here, now can we? Respectable Royal Governors do not take comfort in the arms of pirates.” The last was said with a self-deprecating little smile that melted his heart.

With a heavy sigh James stood, shaking his head. “No, my lady, I think I’ve manhandled you enough already for a night. If I get into that bed with you right now I know I will not leave it.” The suggestion in his words delivered with such an undercurrent of heat left Elizabeth surprisingly titillated for the second time that night, and her lips parted in answer. Thread by thread, it seemed she was unravelling James Norrington’s armor at the seams, and she very much liked what she was finding underneath.

This man had carried a torch for her for _years,_ and even after reading her damningly honest memoirs it seemed the flame still burned bright. True loyalty was a rare commodity in the world she lived in, and this man’s determination to love her did unexpected things to her insides. She’d been so _certain_ that reading of her time in the bed of his arch-enemy Jack Sparrow, and her disruptions of the civilized order of his world, would turn him away from her. Surprisingly she had _dreaded_ the way he would undoubtedly look upon her the next morning, with dull eyes and mouth set in that grim serious line. But here he was in her room, obviously torn between remaining a gentleman and ravishing her senseless. The thought of the latter option raised gooseflesh over her skin, a wave of heat spreading through her loins.

“Perhaps I wouldn’t object to a bit more of your manhandling,” she admitted quietly, pulling the sheet aside, patting the space next to her. It had been a _long_ time since a man had looked at her that way: like she’d hung the moon and was made of stars. Like he wanted to make love to her and fuck her all at once, and maybe not get out of bed for a week on end. She found herself craving everything that went with that look, and wanting to take part in some explorations of her own.

She’d always been fond of James Norrington. She’d even fancied him in her youth, before her eye turned to Will Turner. But over the past couple weeks something new grew within her with regards to this man of such uncommon quality. It was inexplicable, for such things had never interested her before. Yet even as she recognized the signs, it seemed she just couldn’t _help_ herself.

One would think she would have learned her lessons in the dangers of love from Jack Sparrow, the man who had left her heart such a razed and salted landscape, the scene of too many bloody battles to count. She knew only madness lay down this road. But she and James were two adults, and they could at least enjoy each other’s company for a little pleasant diversion, couldn’t they? She’d been alone for a long time, and she _wanted_ him.

James felt his mouth go dry as he looked down upon her, deliciously sleep rumpled and her dark eyes luminous in the shadows of the early morning. And was it just his imagination, or could he practically see through that nightgown? He couldn’t believe what she was offering him. Was it a trick? _But the way she looked upon him_ —even in the dark, he could _see_ the heat in her eyes.

 _What a worthy gentleman you are_ taunted a voice inside his head. _You would partake of her when she is your prisoner?_

His hands clenched into fists as he remembered himself, the technicalities of their situation, and what an utter fucking cad he was making of himself. She deserved better than a man breaking into her bedroom in the early morning, distraught as a child over reading what should have been her most private recollections. With the last grain of his self-control he backed away one step, and then another.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth. With all my heart, I am so sorry.” On the wings of that befuddling apology he turned on his heel and fled. She watched him go, her mouth agape with surprise. What astonished her more was the way her heart painfully clenched in her chest, and she found herself reaching for his retreating form, a silent protest of _wait, don’t go_ on the tip of her tongue.

Embarrassed, she lay back, staring with bewilderment at the ceiling.

“I must be losing my touch,” she sighed, hugging herself against a chill that had _nothing_ to do with the temperature outside. The moisture in her eyes certainly was _not_ tears of rejection, she told herself.

She was just tired.

Very _fucking_ tired of _all this_ and now that she’d been so rudely awakened she doubted she would get back to sleep again.

Despite her certainty, she did fall back into a restless slumber eventually, during which she dreamed of green eyes and long-fingered hands gliding over her skin.


	11. Lady's Choice

James did his best to avoid Elizabeth in the next few days, and for sharing a relatively small house he did a fine job of it. She let him, of course. After watching him dash from her room in the wee hours of the morning after such an explicit invitation into her bed, she would be _damned_ if she appeared to chase him.

What she had not counted upon was the following emptiness in her heart when deprived of his company, a decided _ache_ that left her feeling annoyed with herself, him, and anyone who came within three feet of her. The two who dared were Millie, who was seemingly impervious to her mood anyway, and Sheridan, who had placated her with such an earnest plea that she wear something _normal_ when the Dovers came to dinner that she had no choice but to relent.

In the wee hours of the morn, dawn just breaking the horizon, she went to the garden dressed in loose Indian pyjama with the intent to work on her yoga practice. Her back was feeling uncomfortably stiff and she hoped the stretching would loosen her muscles. It seemed the ideal hour to raise the least eyebrows in the house.

Halfway through her third sun salutation she was proven wrong. When she looked up from the _uttanasana_ pose she found several sets of curious eyes upon her, a gaggle of young men clasping bundles of swords. Of course, today would be Norrington’s fencing salon, she huffed to herself. With what she hoped was a suitable amount of dignity she rose to a standing position.

“Good morning, gentlemen. You look as though you’ve never seen a _surya namaskara_ before.”

The men gave her perfectly blank looks, except for Sheridan, who grinned like the imp he was, heartily amused by his companions’ bewilderment. James reckoned with some annoyance and more than a little jealousy that it was not the _surya namaswhatever the devil she was doing_ but the fact that they’d all had a rather unobscured view down her loose fitting shirt. Luckily her breasts were wrapped in that swathe of linen she favored over even a short corset, but he still narrowly resisted demanding they all cover their goddamned eyes.

“Heathen rubbish from India,” finally scoffed one of the fencers, and Elizabeth recognized Lieutenant Grey, the intended new commander of _The Artemis._ Immediately her blood raised a few degrees, and wondered what _gall_ the man had to show himself here, before she remembered this was the _Governor’s_ house, and not her _home_.

This left her even more annoyed. She was in _enemy territory_ and she had best remember it. She’d allowed herself to feel too comfortable here for _too_ bloody long.

“Hardly rubbish,” she calmly defended. “Keeps the body in peak form.”

“So we saw,” he snarked under his breath, winning a look of warning from Governor Norrington.

Elizabeth, however, only offered a cheeky grin, though her eyes glinted hard as flint. “How sweet of you to say, Lieutenant.”

Fearing where this might lead, James interjected, “I hate to impose upon you, Miss Swann, but might we commandeer the lawn?”

She gave a sweeping bow, signaling the grass was all theirs. “Might I watch?”

James seemed reluctant, but could think of no good reason to deny her. “If you wish.”

Elizabeth seated herself on a low wall, and silently took in the gentlemen’s swordplay.

Her gaze strayed to James, who watched the fencing with an inscrutable countenance, giving advice when necessary. James did not possess the exotic beauty of Jack Sparrow, or the youthful perfection that had once drawn her to William. His features were decidedly more regular, with his aquiline nose and firm English jaw, and yet there was something undeniably tempting about him. He stood still as a statue, his profile so handsome and so bloody _noble,_ his sharp brow creased as he watched his students. A pang of longing ambushed her as she watched him, and subsequently, even _more_ annoyance.

There were several good bouts, and reluctantly she had to admit that Lieutenant Grey was quite proficient. He trounced Sheridan three times, and the third touch was executed with what was perhaps _unnecessary_ force. Sheridan bore it with grace, and afterwards came to sit down heavily beside Elizabeth on the wall, rather short of breath and rubbing his side. “He’s good,” she said, consoling him with a pat on the back.

“Unbeatable,” sighed Sherry. “I’ve never made a point on him in all the time we’ve been here.”

Elizabeth laughed at that. “No one’s unbeatable, my boy. Go into a fight with an attitude like that and you’re bound to lose.”

Out the corner of her eye she watched as a servant brought James a note, and the Governor excused himself to go back into the house.

“Well. I was tutored occasionally in this vicious art so that I might account for myself in a question of honor between gentlemen. _He_ is a battle hardened soldier. I could never be as good as him, or Uncle James.”

“Ah. Well, that’s fine. I won’t tell you how to beat him then.”

A spark of interest shone in Sherry’s eyes. “Miss Swann, my _dear_ Miss Swann, have I told you how fetching you look in this… _ensemble_ today?” He laid it on _thick,_ and Elizabeth chuckled for the flattery in his tone.

“Pyjama.”

“Grey’s weakness is _pyjama_? What the devil is that?”

Elizabeth laughed heartily, drawing the attention of the fencers. It was not a ladylike laugh, but it was genuine. “No, that is what _these_ are called,” she said, fingering the homespun cotton of her pants. “But Grey’s weakness is his right foot. He tells when he’s about to lunge, and then he leaves his whole side open. He’s done it several times now. Quick about it, he counts on an opponent not being fast enough to catch him. Most of the time it seems he’s been right.”

“What would you do, then?”

“Here, or amidst a boarding? Two very different things, I’m afraid, though one is infinitely more practical than the other.”

Having heard his name brought up several times amidst their conversation, and now without the hawk-like supervision of the Governor, Grey called, “Care to share with the class, children?”

Elizabeth knew she should keep her mouth shut. She well and truly _knew_. But she was sore with the thought that this man would soon be sailing away on _her_ beloved ship, and so she answered, “I was just regaling my Lord with how if I were to meet you on the deck of my ship I would put a dirk in that side you leave wide open.”

Grey smirked, an answering challenge glinting in his blue eyes. “I believe you mean the deck of _my_ ship now?”

“We’ll see how long it lasts.”

“Even if you take the pardon you’ll never see her again. You can mark my word on that.”

“I only meant that I think _she’s_ too much for a boy like you to handle.”

A silence fell over the group, all clanging of blades ceasing in the still morning.

Grey smirked, and his eyes flicked to the house, curious if their fencing master would yet return. But it seemed he’d been drawn to some urgent business in the house, and while the cat was away the mice could play.

“Why don’t you come over here and show me, Pirate King?” invited Grey quietly, his tone holding all the menace of the quiet before a fierce storm.

_She wanted this._

She’d been cooped up for too long, made to behave like a lady when at heart she was really a lion. She’d been kept a prisoner behind velvet-covered bars, which somehow was even harder to bear than the harsh amenities of a proper gaol. Not to mention all the confusion in her conflicting feelings for her captor, the absurdity of which _really_ put her on edge. What kind of a _Pirate King_ fell for a _Royal Governor?_ Yes, she was _spoiling_ for a good fight, and Grey might be sorry he was the one to pick it.

Sheridan saw this was a very bad idea indeed, and with a staying hand on her arm began to suggest, “Perhaps that’s not—”

Elizabeth stood, shrugging off Sheridan’s hand. “It would be my pleasure, Lieutenant Grey.”

The other men gave her a wide berth as she approached, curious and apprehensive of what was to follow. Grey perused a selection of swords laid out on the ground on a cloth, and picked up two handsome sabers. “You have no objection to _bare_ blades, do you?” he challenged. Somehow everything he said seemed slightly obscene; a double threat to her as a person, and as a woman. She knew the type. God, how she knew, and Elizabeth very much looked forward to teaching him a lesson in manners.

“Not at all. In fact I _prefer_ it. Play to first blood?”

There was a tittering murmur that surged in the crowd around them. They almost never used bare blades, practicing with unsharpened swords and foils tipped with buttons. They _certainly_ never played for blood.

“Lady’s choice.”

He handed her the sword with a mocking bow, and they lowered themselves into their opposing stances. “ _En garde._ ”

“Be gentle with me,” he teased with a hand over his heart, winning a snicker from all their audience save one.

Her opening assault was like a hurricane, a flurry of quick strikes that Grey just barely managed to stay ahead of. But he circled and parried until he gained enough room for that lightning quick thrust. She was ready for it, though she had no dagger in her left hand. Instead she poked him in the ribs _hard_ with two fingers, demonstrating what could have been a bloody victory with a cheeky grin.

He squirmed away, perfectly scandalized. There would be a bruise on his ribs later, no doubt. “I’m afraid _tickling_ doesn’t count.”

“Just getting warmed up, darling.”

She let him come at her, leading him in circles, tiring him out. Her back hurt like the devil, but it was the kind of hurt that she knew would only make her stronger. It meant that she was finally _doing_ something she loved and she reveled in it with teeth bared. When she saw the opportunity she stepped into his guard and with a flick of her wrist just _nicked_ the curve of his cheek, leaving a small bloody line.

Mouth agape with surprise and horror, he lifted a hand to his cheek, his fingers coming away stained red.

“Something to remember me by when you look in the mirror,” she snarked with a mocking pout. It was _hardly_ the mark that had been left on her.

Grey’s eyes narrowed, and the thin veneer of gentlemanly grace snapped. “ _You cheeky little bitch._ ” Rather than cede the match to her as agreed he went on the attack again, and Elizabeth was treated to what this man was _really_ like in a fray. Vicious, ruthless, and a soldier trained to kill. He came at her hard, jarring her teeth as she parried his blows.

Now she _could_ feel herself tiring, and she wondered if she’d made a mistake after all. He wasn’t fighting to wound, but to kill, and she reckoned all rules of fair combat were off.

Which of course, was when a pirate was at her best.

She pulled all stops, circling in the Spanish style when he was clearly used to fighting in perfectly English straight lines. He certainly did not expect it when she let fly a high kick that struck him across the face, knocking him to the ground. She stomped on his sword hand, ensuring he dropped the blade. But Grey had one more trick up his sleeve, and he went to reach for the dagger in his boot, intending to put it in this pirate’s belly, like someone _should_ have the moment they had captured her.

“That’s _quite_ enough.”

Grey found a sword at his throat, and his eyes slowly travelled up the blade to find a furious Governor Norrington on the other end. Sighing, Grey lay back in the grass. His face was a bloody mess, a broken nose to complement the neat little slice on his cheek. Little bubbles of blood sputtered and popped in his nostrils as he breathed heavily.

Fiery green eyes turned to Elizabeth, and suddenly she felt as though she was not a Pirate King, but the little girl who had caused such great mischief aboard the Dauntless so many years ago. “Are you hurt?” he demanded, barely banked fury in his tone.

“No.”

“Then _go inside_.”

For once, she did as she was told.

 

**XXX**

 

He found her waiting in the parlor, once all the fencers had gone. She sat curled on the settee, looking out the window. Distantly she could see the glittering blue line of the sea, and she longed for it the same way she had longed for James in the garden. In that moment it seemed so distant, so _impossibly_ out of reach.

“You are set on making this difficult for me, aren’t you?”

“I confess I wasn’t thinking of you at all,” she answered, which wasn’t entirely true. “I was thinking of my ship, and that smug shit sailing on her.”

“When I said you could watch I didn’t mean instigate a duel the moment you were out of my sight.”

“The instigation was mutual, I assure you,” she huffed, a little petulantly.

“You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”

“Was it luck?” She couldn’t muster the energy to be insulted, though the boot knife had been a nasty trick. The sort of thing she herself might have tried, given the chance.

James sighed. “Perhaps not. I saw the first part through the window. What _are_ you? Part Amazon?”

In spite of herself, she smiled slightly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

James sighed heavily, and came to sit next to her on the settee. “I wouldn’t want to meet you in a boarding,” he admitted.

“Likewise, Sir James. Thank you for intervening on my behalf.” The last came a bit begrudgingly, yet was still genuine.

“You are welcome.”

A long silence passed, before Elizabeth said quietly, “He helped to tie me up.”

“What?”

“Grey. When Fitzwilliam took me from Hornigold at the docks. Grey helped tie me up to the grate, and he…” She ground her teeth, remembering the way he’d groped her from stem to stern, promising that they would have their own _fun_ once Fitzwilliam was done with her. Elizabeth decided she didn’t exactly want to reveal that part to James. It made her sick and it felt too much like admitting defeat. So she continued, “He was just smart enough to disappear before you arrived.”

James scrubbed his face, clearly still exasperated. “As if I didn’t already want to _kill_ him, for the way he came at you. And I wanted to kill Fitzwilliam for hurting you. But a fine mess that would make. I am _not_ a king, Elizabeth. Every time you pull a stunt like this I lose more of what _little_ power I have to keep you safe. I cannot buy your freedom with your weight in gold—” He could not resist looking her up and down. “Though you would be a much better deal than I. I would if I could.”

“I know I have not made this easy on your career, or you personally James. You are free to send me off on the next ship to London, if it would be better for you.”

Sir James guffawed, unable to believe she would think he _could,_ especially at this juncture. He was a man who usually knew exactly what to do in any given situation. It was what made him a good captain, a good leader. But this once, he was at a total loss _._ “Even if I wanted to, in whose custody could I send you now? Once word gets around about your bout with Grey every Navy man on this island will want to see you hung, or worse. Much worse.”

Elizabeth knew all about the _much worse_ that could happen to a woman in the keeping of angry men confined on a ship _,_ but she did not care to discuss it with the Governor. She looked out the window, her face a blank slate.

After a long silence James introduced a new subject. “We are to have the Dovers for dinner tonight. Can I trust you not to instigate an altercation? I know better than to think you would spare _me,_ but for Sheridan’s sake?”

“Why ever would I pick a fight with that fat fuck Timothy Dover?” she asked innocently, and it was all for show. James knew now the efforts she had made against the sugar trade, and the fact that she knew his name only thickened the plot.

“I don’t like the way things are done on the plantations either, Elizabeth, but it’s just the way things are for now.”

Elizabeth raised one dark brow. “You know, it seems to me that anything described as _just the way things are_ usually implies that the _thing_ is not _just_ at all.”

“You’re not wrong,” he reluctantly agreed.

“I _know_ I’m not,” she huffed rather petulantly.

“But you can’t fight the _whole_ world, Elizabeth. You cannot free everyone! You will die early or make yourself _mad._ ”

“I never thought I would live this long, that’s for damn sure,” she muttered under her breath. She certainly wasn’t sure that she _wasn’t_ losing her mind. She wanted to scoot closer to James on the settee and let him put his arm around her, as he clearly wanted to do. Let him be her shelter, a steady shoulder to cry on…But it was a comfort she would not allow herself. She was a goddamned Pirate King, and letting him get so close to her heart was utter fucking madness, plain and simple.

“Well. I for one am glad that you have, and would like to see it continue that way.” This pulled the tiniest smile from the corner of her mouth. James was not sure if he’d pleased her, or if she simply thought him a fool. “Do I have your word then? About tonight?”

The smile disappeared. “I have already agreed to wear a proper dress for Sheridan’s peace of mind. I suppose I can keep my mouth shut for you too.”

James sighed. “That’s not what I’m asking for.”

“Yes it is. Maybe you don’t realize it, having lived all your life in a man’s skin, but it is _exactly_ what you are requesting.”

Exhausted, James stood. He supposed it would have to suffice. He was at his wit’s end with Elizabeth, at a total loss as what to do with her. He felt as though she were a line he clung to amidst a violent storm. She thrashed about wildly, and slowly, despite his best efforts, he was losing his hold.

Or perhaps it was foolish to think he’d ever had hold of her in the first place? He was just a pawn in a game between Kings. Though he’d always accepted rather well that he was just a small cog in a larger machine, for some reason this thought now left him _unbelievably_ low.

James looked over her head out the window as he said, “I would tell you that you needn’t come, but your presence would mean quite a lot to the boy. He is fond of you. He lost his mother when he was very young, and I think…well. You are good with him.”

“He’s a fine young man,” she sighed, defeated. “I promise I’ll be good. Now, don’t you have some _governing_ to do?”

He understood this as a signal that she wished to be left alone, so he took his leave of her without another word.


	12. A Little Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dovers come for dinner.

Millie helped Elizabeth prepare for dinner, at long last receiving her chance to tie the Pirate King up in a corset before lifting her fine gown over her head. It was a French confection of deep blue and cream silk, the neckline plunging rather scandalously. But there was no arguing that the style became her, and she reckoned James would forgive her _that_ , if anything.

After styling her hair in an intricate coif of curls Millie produced a small wooden box. “The Governor sent these for you,” she said brightly, making some attempt at restoring the Pirate King’s usual spirit. Miss Swann had been uncharacteristically quiet the whole evening, her usually smiling lips drawn in a dour straight line.

Wordlessly Elizabeth took the box from Millie, opening it to reveal a lustrous baroque pearl necklace with matching bobs on filigree gold wires. Despite herself Elizabeth’s lips parted, a sigh of appreciation escaping her as she ran fingers over their slick surface. Such a string of perfectly matched pearls were worth a _fortune_ , and she’d always had a particular liking for them over the other precious stones.

With a hairline frown she examined the box, inspecting the make and the blue velvet covering of the interior. It seemed rather familiar, and a tremor ran through her hand.

“Oh my,” was all she could say as she felt her heart swell within her chest, and somehow simultaneously fall to her feet.

_What was he doing to her?_

_Why couldn’t she just—_

“Were you really once engaged to ‘im?” asked Millie cautiously. The King had invited her to speak as an equal to her on numerous occasions, and finally with her curiosity up the maid decided to try it on.

“Yes, briefly. A _long_ time ago.”

“Did you love ‘im?”

“Not at the time.” She lifted the pearls from the box, pooling them in her palm. They were smooth and heavy, and she knew would feel sinfully good around her neck. “Fool that I was,” she added quietly, lifting the necklace to her throat and allowing Millie to clasp it.

“Well, I think he still loves you.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips, regarding her reflection in the mirror. She looked haunted, her dark eyes wide as they stared back at her. “I think that you’re right,” Elizabeth agreed.

_God help him. God help them both._

Loving her was not a burden she would have ever wished on such a _good_ man. Loving him back seemed equally sinister. How could a woman like her do anything _but_ destroy him?

But it dawned on her that the only thing he had asked of her _for himself_ this entire time was that she would not make a fool of him at his own dinner table tonight. And so she resolved for _one night_ she could manage to be a lady, and not act like the perfect hoyden she knew she really was.

 

**XXX**

 

When Elizabeth entered the parlor where James and Sheridan awaited their guests an immediate hush fell over their conversation. Quickly they scrambled to their feet, bowing in greeting.

“You look lovely!” exclaimed Sheridan, obviously _surprised_ , and Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile a _little_.

James, however, said nothing, only stared. He knew very well the picture Elizabeth could cut when dressed in European finery, and somehow the sight seemed to cause him more _pain_ than pleasure.

Elizabeth almost launched into a story of how she’d robbed a merchant blind on Martinique after beguiling him in this dress, but one look at James’ expression quashed the impulse. So instead she curtsied prettily and said, “Thank you, Sheridan. You are kind. And you both look very handsome this evening.” It was true. James wore a forest green frock coat that brought out his eyes, with an ivory tunic and breeches. Sheridan also wore green but lighter, with a more festive salmon colored tunic and breeches. Where James’ shoe buckles were plain but polished silver, Elizabeth noticed that Sheridan’s sparkled with the steely fire of _real_ diamonds. It’s good to be the son of a Baron, she supposed.

James felt his heart in his throat as he watched her approach. He’d always loved her in darker blues; and not just because it was a color he always associated with his own identity. His gaze strayed down to the pearls about her throat; _many_ times he’d imagined what she would look like wearing them, but his imaginings simply did not do the reality justice.

She took a seat upon the settee, and James hoped he was not too bold when he made to join her. Sheridan remained standing, pacing a bit in his nerves. It was not yet seven, but already the boy had worked himself into a frenzy. “It is safe to travel on the inland roads now at this hour, wouldn’t you say?”

It was a matter they had already discussed at great lengths, but once more James assured him, “Yes. Safer than in England herself, I would say.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in response, but kept her reckoning that she would not have traveled without an entourage of outriders to herself. She had promised she would be a lady, and that meant presenting herself as demure, agreeable, and without opinion.

Already she could feel her soul starting to wither.

James looked to Elizabeth as though awaiting her two shillings on the matter, but she only paid him a small smile. When his look persisted she finally answered quietly, “I’m sure your uncle is right.”

James frowned a little for her answer. Most men would absolutely expect to receive such a confirmation of their reasoning, but from Elizabeth in this way felt _all wrong._ Was this what she thought he’d requested of her? He found himself reaching for her hand, his brow creased with consternation. But Sheridan’s exclamation of “They’re here!” and his subsequent darting for the door convinced James to abandon his course. They stood to greet their guests, and Elizabeth followed at James’ heels like the good girl she was not.

 

**XXX**

 

Dinner passed in a surprisingly pleasant, if not perfectly tame fashion. Elizabeth could not help but compare this gathering to the raucous feasts of Shipwreck’s Great Hall, or even the smaller rum-fueled salons filled with her beloved rebels and their radical ideas held in her own private rooms.

The Dover’s family consisted of _three_ girls of marriageable age, all of whom fawned over Sherry, and no doubt Mrs. Dover hoped to snag the Baron-To-Be for one of them. She was spritely, pleasant, and empty-headed as a Russian nesting doll. Two of the girls seemed to be just like their mother, though they were very young and perhaps it was not fair to judge them too harshly for it. Constance, however, was a firecracker disguised in Mechlin lace, and Elizabeth could not help but like her.

Elizabeth was surprised when James had escorted her to the seat at his right, a place of honor that would have been reserved for a wife or grande dame of the household. In the end she decided it was probably more a device to keep an eye on her than just to have her near.

James and Mr. Dover discussed the state of the island in quieter tones than the younger guests, and dutifully Elizabeth listened, only occasionally adding to the conversation with what little wit she allowed herself for the evening. In the end it was Mr. Dover who flew dangerously close to a faux-pas, expressing his surprise to be dining with a _criminal,_ the infamous _Pirate King,_ at the Governor’s table.

“Soon to be reformed criminal,” Elizabeth answered quickly for James’ sake. “I have yet to sign my name on the line, as it were, but negotiations seem to be drawing to a close.”

James threw a wide-eyed glance her way, clearly wondering if she was being truthful or merely throwing the planter off the scent. She almost regretted that she would have to disappoint him later, surprised by the _pang_ in her heart at the thought of hurting him.

“Ah, very good!” said Dover. “Must be a terrible life for a woman, living as a pirate.”

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, her hands wrenching her napkin under the table as though it were this ridiculous man’s neck. “Indeed. Endless freedom and fabulous ill-gotten gains do lose their charm eventually.”

It was the only dig she allowed herself, but Dover laughed it off as though it was the funniest fucking thing he’d ever heard in his entire stupid life. Elizabeth knew that this man must have kept more than a hundred slaves to run the scale of operation he owned, and that such _evil_ could be contained in such a seemingly benign, portly and red-faced package bewildered her. She knew if asked he would spout the usual drivel.

_The negroes would live like animals otherwise._

_They are stupid and need a firm hand._

Elizabeth knew it was rubbish and that _they_ were doing just fine in their own homes in Africa before being snatched so cruelly away. What lies men could convince themselves of for the sake of a profit never ceased to amaze her.

She was imagining what kind of force it would take to make an inland invasion and raze his plantation to the ground, freeing all his slaves in the process, when James touched her hand, startling her from her brown study.

“Elizabeth?”

She sat up straighter in her chair. “Yes?” she asked sweetly, and the Governor raised an eyebrow for her saccharine tone.

_Never in his life…_

James found this show of Elizabeth’s almost _disturbed_ him, and he very badly wanted his insouciant Pirate King back. This imposter was _too_ _much_ to bear.

“Will you join us in the parlor?”

She realized the children had already vacated the table and that Mr. and Mrs. Dover were rising from their seats.

“Of course.”

As she took his arm he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “ _What were you plotting?_ ”

Her grip tightened upon his arm, and she could barely suppress a wicked smile, and a sigh of relief. Why did it please her _so much_ that James knew her own mind? That he knew this was an act, and maybe seemed not to relish it so much as her true form? “ _Only a little mayhem and mass insurrection_ ,” she answered, winning a chuckle that warmed her to her toes.

“ _Just a little longer, and we may return to our usual barbarisms,”_ he assured her, patting her hand. He said it fondly, as though he _enjoyed_ the unruly state of his household with the Pirate King in residence. And just like that, unbeknownst to him, Elizabeth knew that she was lost to her affections for this man. What had felt like a lead weight upon her chest lifted, replaced by something that simply _burned._ When he escorted her to a seat next to Mrs. Dover on the settee it pained her to let him go.

Mrs. Dover scooted closer to Elizabeth and chattered away with motherly questions. _Was it hard to be the only woman in the company of brigands, poor dear?_ and _How did she like the island, wasn’t it lovely?_ and _don’t you miss your family?_ Elizabeth fielded all these queries with the diplomatic aplomb of a seasoned politician, and in spite of herself Mrs. Dover began to grow on her.

James and Mr. Dover helped themselves to the brandy. Sheridan and Constance stole away to a corner of the parlor to chat. The younger girls played a bit on the pianoforte, and everyone clapped politely. When Mrs. Dover touched Elizabeth’s arm and asked if she could still play, assuming that she’d once been trained as a Governor’s daughter and all, Elizabeth smiled amusedly as she thought of all the bawdy sailor’s tunes she knew. But in the end she answered wistfully, “I could, if James would help me.”

James looked up from his conversation with Mr. Dover as though surprised to hear his name. “Do you remember that Bach piece we used to play for my father in Port Royal? I know it was a lifetime ago.”

A winsome smile took over his features, and silently he nodded, joining Elizabeth on the bench. In truth Elizabeth had never been much of a musician, to the exasperation of her maestro, who Weatherby had paid a _great_ deal to make Elizabeth proficient in this gentle art. How funny that she would later have no trouble learning to fight with a sword in both hands, but playing the piano had always befuddled her. In her younger years James had often taken mercy on her, and at her father’s gatherings he helped her entertain guests by learning the left hand of several pieces so that they could play in tandem. What had started as an act of generosity for a girl no doubt grew into a different pleasure as Elizabeth became a woman, and the Pirate King was acutely aware of this special intimacy now.

This particular piece had been one of Weatherby’s favorites, and he had often requested it, not only at his larger entertainments but even when James had simply come to tea. It was funny how one could remember a certain repetitive act, no matter how much time had gone by. As they performed there was both a joy and melancholy that lingered with the notes. Memories of a simpler time, a happy time when she’d just been an innocent girl with a father who doted on her, and James a good friend and a man who loved her purely.

In the shelter of her voluminous skirts between them Elizabeth slipped her hand into James’, feeling uncharacteristically sentimental for their past. James did not miss a beat, squeezing her fingers in his own, for he surely felt it too. He did not let go until the piece had ended, and even then, with great reluctance.


	13. Liking Each Other, Immensely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small truce is reached between the Governor and the Pirate King.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly with conversation and laughter over cards, and the Dovers did not leave until late in the evening. Sheridan veritably glowed and he waved at the carriage long after its lamps had disappeared down the road. Chipper as a school boy as they re-entered the house, he piped, “Thank you, Uncle James, that was splendid!”

“You’re quite welcome,” said his uncle, and there was a pause as the three adults hovered in the foyer. Sherry looked between his Uncle and the Pirate King, a rather sly smile forming upon his lips. “Well…Goodnight then.” He bobbed in a little bow and retreated up the stairs, leaving his elders to their own devices.

Seemingly amused by his nephew’s vigor, the boy _undoubtedly_ mired in calf-love, James offered Elizabeth his arm. “Would you care for a nightcap, Your Highness? I think I saw you eyeing our brandy with some envy.”

“Yes, thank you,” said the Pirate King. When one was used to the white lightning that was Shipwreck Cove’s finest rum, an after-dinner sherry did very little. She may have rested her head upon his shoulder as they walked back to the parlor, and his fingers might have laced with hers upon his arm. James felt the exhausted afterglow come from hosting a successful evening, and Elizabeth felt strangely acquiescent to the realizations she’d come to concerning her feelings for James. It left her filled with a warm giddy light that had nothing to do with alcohol.

 _You silly fool_ taunted her inner devils. _How quickly you forget._ But that night, she was determined to pay their hissed warnings no mind.

James brought her a snifter of the amber dark liquid and joined her on the settee with a sigh. “Well, I think that was a success, though I’m not sure if I have done more harm than good.”

“I think you made Sherry very happy, _Uncle_ James, with an innocent diversion. There is no crime in that.”

James dared cast his eyes over Elizabeth, appreciating her ensemble for the umpteenth time that evening. “You made him quite happy too, I wager. Thank you.”

“Did I sufficiently conduct myself as a lady? It’s been a while,” she snarked.

“Perfectly. _Too much_ so. I missed you,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. That simple truth made Elizabeth regard James from under her lashes, shy as a school girl. She did not think it was all brandy that warmed her insides at that moment, and she dared scoot a little closer to the Governor. He didn’t seem to mind.

“I know that you detest it,” he offered with some caution. “But, in this mode your beauty truly is nonpareil, Elizabeth. You look stunning tonight.” He dared brush a curl back from the nape of her neck, and she shivered for that one gentle touch.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, hoping to hide the fact that her heart fluttered _frantically_ in her chest. “That’s a kind thing to say to an aging woman,” she quipped with an undercurrent of self-deprecation. Immediately James thought of her journal, and how he’d read that Jack Sparrow traded her in for a young thing just barely into her twenties. It undoubtedly left her a little self-conscious about her age, though he suspected the prideful Elizabeth Swann never would have mentioned it when _completely_ sober.

“Jack Sparrow was a bloody fool,” said James frankly, lifting his hand to trace her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered closed, lulled by his caress. “I would have given my right hand to have had that time with you. I never would have let you go.”

A half smile curled her bee-stung lips, even as her eyes remained closed, enjoying his fingertips that now boldly drifted down the svelte line of her neck. “And yet when offered an invitation to my bed the other night you _fled_ like the wise man that you are, Sir James.”

 _Sir James_ scoffed at her telling of events. “Surely you know my leaving had little to do with lack of wanting you?”

“It was a first for me, to be sure,” she admitted, winning a huff of annoyance from the Governor.

“You are technically my prisoner, Pirate King. I thought it might be… _heinous_ to take advantage. But now I’m not really sure between us who is prisoner and who is keeper. I’m not sure I care.” _That_ was the brandy talking, Elizabeth had no doubt. And yet the thing about good spirits was that perhaps they made tongues wag, but they wagged honestly.

James’ fingers strayed to the pearl necklace next, tracing their curve upon her chest. He could feel her heart pounding beneath his fingertips, and it was gratifying as it was _maddening._

“Did I recognize the make of that box from Mr. Goldschimdt’s shop?” Elizabeth asked in regard to the pearls. It was an establishment from which she’d received many gifts from her father. They had specialized in the finest jewelry to be had in Port Royal, of gold and silver, set with diamonds, emeralds, and pearls. Their containers were also distinctive, and she was certain she already knew the answer.

“Yes,” James answered quietly, clearly a little embarrassed.

“And didn’t I hear that their shop fell into the sea with the earthquake of ’25?”

“Perhaps. These were purchased long before that, I’m afraid. I’d meant them to be a wedding gift. They’re practically _antiques_ now…” he added with a pained little laugh that hurt Elizabeth’s heart.

Elizabeth exhaled a long sigh, tilting her head to rest on the back of the settee. “Oh James. You kept them all this time.”

“A habit of mine, when it comes to things of you. Do you think me a fool?” he asked softly, and in that moment she knew she held this man’s fragile heart in her hands.

“No,” she answered, reaching up to unpin his wig. His short hair beneath was such a luxurious thick dark brown, and again she couldn’t understand why _any_ of the Norrington men would cover their hair. “I just can’t fathom what it is you see in me.”

James cupped the side of her face in his hand, turning her gaze to his. “I see _everything_ I’ve ever wanted,” he admitted.

He never could bring himself to settle for anything less.

Elizabeth sighed, her hands reaching for him of their own accord, and easily they pulled him to her, his lips gently caressing her own. They kissed like this for a long while; sweetly, light touches and the barest caressing of tongues. It caused Elizabeth to whimper, her greedy hands sliding beneath the warmth of his coat. His torso was fit and lean and hungrily she explored the shape of him through the brocade of his waistcoat.

However, somehow James brought himself to catch her hand as it strayed beneath his waistcoat, hissing as her nails grazed his waistline through his shirt. “Elizabeth…”

She looked to him, her eyelids half-closed, lips parted with desire. He couldn’t believe he was stopping her to ask this question, but he managed to get out, “Was there _any_ shred of truth in what you told Mr. Dover? Are you considering the pardon at last?”

Elizabeth sighed heavily, closing her eyes. “ _James_ …”

“I must know,” he insisted, squeezing her hand in his. “Before we take this any further, _I must_ know _._ ”

There was a long pause, and then Elizabeth reached up to unpin his neck cloth, sticking the sharp adornment into the upholstery of the settee. “Please don’t make me decide now,” she sighed, unraveling the soft piece of linen from his throat. “Can’t we just declare a truce tonight?” She waved the cloth like a white flag before laying it upon the back of the settee. “Can’t we just be…a man and woman who like each other immensely?” She kissed his bare throat and James groaned, his hands convulsing as he fought not to grab her up and slant his mouth over his.

“Is that what we are doing?” he sighed. “ _Liking each other immensely?_ ”

“It seems descriptive enough.” She kissed his neck again and he felt himself melting in her hands, his eyes fluttering closed. “I’m afraid if I admit that I’m falling in love with you that you may do something drastic.”

James paused, the gravity of those words hitting him like a spar fallen from the very top of the shrouds. Breathing became difficult, his heart stopping and then attempting to beat right out of his chest. “What did you say?”

She sighed, her teeth grazing the line of his jaw. “I said that I love you,” she finally answered. “But I don’t know what that means or where we go from here so please don’t ask me now. Just… kiss me?” There was an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice. With trembling hands he cupped her face, as though she were the most precious treasure in the world. “ _Again_ ,” he whispered above her mouth, pressing his lips to hers. “Say it again.”

“ _I love you._ ”

_Those words._

Those beautiful words from _her_ lips—it was indescribable what they did to him. He realized he never really thought he would ever hear them from her; it was a dream he gave up on a _long_ time ago.

Desperately he searched her face for any sign of beguilement, but all he found was a befuddling mix of genuine warmth mixed with a wide-eyed fear. “Oh Elizabeth. _My love._ ”

He kissed her again, and this time it was a deep and heady thing that drew a whimper from her throat. Her hands clutched at him, pulling him closer, and James felt _drunk_ in a way that had nothing to do with brandy. His first impulse was to demand that she take the pardon and marry him _immediately,_ he didn’t _care_ about formalities of banns or if they had to drag the parson from his bed, but he managed to get ahold of himself.

She was frightened, and understandably so. Because to love someone truly was to _surrender_ to them, and it was possible Elizabeth Swann had never surrendered to _anyone_ in her life. James was quite used to this helpless feeling of longing, this eternal _ache,_ but for her it was something decidedly foreign.

“James?”

“Alright,” he ceded, brushing her lips with his. “Alright, we don’t have to talk about it tonight.”

 _It_ being the pardon, the complications, _the future._ James wanted her more than anything else in the world, and he simply did not have it in him to wait anymore. He dared to run his hand down her thigh, placing her legs over his own, fitting her into the sheltered curve of his larger body. His hands strayed to the boned contour of her waist, and his voice came thick with wanting as he said, “I believe you once wrote that my hands on your waist drove you to impure thoughts, Miss Swann?” He squeezed her tiny waist in his palms in a way that made her sigh. “Tell me what else your delightful imagination contrived?”

She smiled against his mouth, and between kisses she imparted, “The fantasies of an untried nineteen year old are hardly interesting _now_ , I’m sure.”

“You were no normal nineteen year old,” he assured her. “And I found them _very_ interesting. I have read that damned letter more times than I can possibly count.”

She laughed a little, though for once there was no mockery in it. “I…I only wanted the usual acts of lover’s daring, I suppose. A midnight visit to my balcony. A stolen tryst in the garden. I may have fantasized once that you smuggled me aboard the Dauntless before a long cruise and kept me in your cabin for your _sordid_ pleasure.” This was admitted with a sultry smile, and hearing these things from _her_ lips sent a jolt from his hair to the tips of his toes.

“Those were all fantastic ideas,” he agreed, kissing her. “I regret that I missed my opportunity. I fear I never would have dared, fool that I was.”

“Not a fool, James. Just…a good man.” Never in a million years would he have thought she would defend his honorable behavior. “Tell me of _your_ fantasies, Sir James,” she countered, feeling more than a little exposed. “Tell me what kept you warm at night, after you read my letter.”

He chuckled against the skin of her neck, winning a shudder that caused her to grip at the fabric of his tunic. Annoyed by the barrier, nimble fingers began to pop free the gilded buttons. “In the beginning I dreamed of being the one to find you,” he admitted in a gravelly voice that raised gooseflesh across her skin. “Sometimes you begged me to take you home, disillusioned with the pirate life and needing a hero.” He paused to kiss her, his lips lingering above her fluttering pulse. “And sometimes you fought me, but I took you anyway.”

For some reason it was the latter that lit a fire in her blood. “ _Oh,_ ” she said, winning a chuckle that rumbled through his chest. She _would_ be most intrigued by an act of piracy over an heroic rescue.

How _differently_ he could have courted her, if only he’d known. If only he’d had the _courage_ then.

His mouth strayed down to the mounds of her breasts, causing the most wanton sounds to escape her lips that made his blood _boil_. He kissed the soft flesh plumped so conveniently by her corset. With such a daring neckline it did not take much to free them completely, and James took one nipple into his mouth, laving the sensitive bud with his tongue. “I never thought I would find myself saying this, but _God bless_ the French,” he murmured in regards to her neckline as he moved to the other breast, winning a shaky chuckle from Elizabeth. Her laughter soon faded into moans, and the ache between her legs felt as though he tied her up in knots as he attended her, leaving her _craving_ his touch like something essential to life: air, water, and James’ hands on her body.

As though he knew very well, one hand began to slide beneath her skirts, finding a clocked stockinged leg to trace all the way up to the juncture of her hips. She gasped as he brushed her center with his thumb, and he groaned to find her soaking wet already, _for him._ All for him, and at any moment he was certain he would wake from this dream.

She protested a little as he drew away from her, but then she watched interestedly as he knelt before her, gathering her skirts in his hands. He tugged free a ribbon that held up her stockings, the satin sliding against her skin. One by one he folded the layers up as neatly as a sail, admitting, “This is a fantasy I’ve entertained more than once. Traversing the all the layers of your skirts and petticoats, past your ruffles and bows, to find the pretty pink treasure underneath.”

At the sight of said _treasure_ James paused, a look of absolute hunger upon his handsome visage. He glanced up to her before bowing his head to kiss her thigh, and the _fire_ in his eyes moved her to no end. At long last he was not a commander, a governor, a gentleman, or a captor. He was just _a_ _man_ faced with the woman he had desired for more than a decade, and she very much wanted _everything_ that look promised. Elizabeth sighed, tilting her head back as he kissed her higher upon her thigh. “ _Oh James. Please?_ ”

He did not make her wait long, blazing a trail down her thigh all the way to her moist center. She cried out when his lips touched her _there,_ and struggled to not roust the entire house with her sounds of pleasure. He brought her slowly with his lips and tongue, his long fingers sliding inside her body. Just when she thought she could not _stand_ the pleasure of it anymore she _broke,_ her back arching taut as a bow, her mouth open in a silent scream.

As the world slowly came back to her James was there, his lips on hers and his arms around her; hungrily she kissed him, eager for more even as she could hardly see straight. He gathered her svelte body into his arms, carrying her across the room and up the stairs like a bride. The significance was not lost on her, and with a sigh she settled her head upon his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating steady as a galley drum.

He took her to his room, and only when he set her down to stand by the bed did it occur to him, “Is Millie waiting up for you?”

Elizabeth pressed her lips, barely concealing a sly little smile. “I _might_ have told her I would manage on my own tonight.” Saying such a thing was as damning evidence as leaving her petticoats strewn in a breadcrumb trail across the house to his room; there was no getting out of a dress like this _on one’s own._

And then James decided he simply did not care tonight.

He forced himself to be gentle with her lacings in the back, to not rip the pretty confection to shreds in all his eagerness to have her unclothed. Little by little Elizabeth was freed from the restrictive garment, and when the corset was unlaced she _finally_ could breathe again. Yet when James pulled her back against the firm line of his body, his large hands sliding hungrily over her curves, touching her through the silk of her chemise, he _decidedly_ stole her breath all over again.

“ _God you are beautiful_ ,” he rasped against her ear, kissing the curve of her cheek and down the line of her neck. She craned her head to capture his lips with her own, and with the pull of a ribbon the bodice of her chemise was loosened enough that it could slide down over her shoulders, pooling in a pile of silk at her feet.

Suddenly she was bare before him, and James himself found it hard to breathe.

Even in the moonlight the angry red of her fresh scars cutting across her back were visible, and an anguished sigh escaped him as he looked upon her. “ _Not_ so beautiful, eh?” she sighed, beginning to turn to hide them from his view. But James placed hands on her hips, holding her in place.

“You _are_ beautiful, Elizabeth,” he assured her, kissing the highest scar that curved over her shoulder. “ _So beautiful.”_ Gently he pushed her down to bend over the edge of the bed; she liked his hands upon her like this, guiding and sure of what he wanted. His lips traced every scar with the sweetest kisses, seeking to erase their brutality. But the deed was written forever in her skin, and he _hated_ himself for allowing this to happen to her. “ _Christ, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there in time to save you_ ,” he whispered against her skin.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, a very different emotion shining in her dark eyes. “It wasn’t your fault, James. Fitzwilliam will answer for it someday, but your hands are clean. Please, don’t torture yourself.” She knew all too well his tendency to blame himself for everything, _especially_ that which was out of his power to control.

James groaned, kissing her spine once more, causing her to writhe beneath him. The curve of her bare bottom pressed against his groin, finding him hard as iron for her. “ _I want you_ ,” she coaxed him. “Be here with me, _now_.” She hoped to pull him out of the past, knowing all too well how easy it could be to drown in _that_ quagmire.

She turned to perch on the edge of the bed, her large dark eyes looking up to him. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, assuring her, “I am,” before kissing her sweetly. Her hands wandered to the lapels of his coat, pushing it from his shoulders, and gladly James did the rest. Unabashedly she watched him with desire burning in her gaze, reaching for him eagerly when he was done. She kissed his torso and ran her tongue down the ridges of muscle of his abdomen, all the while travelling lower. When she took his cock into her mouth James let loose a pained groan, his fingers tangling in her hair.

“ _Elizabeth,_ ” he rasped, marveling that his knees did not buckle beneath him, her mouth felt _so good._ She teased his contours with her tongue, cupping his bollocks as she took him as far as she could into her mouth. She couldn’t fit him all the way; James Norrington had _nothing_ to be ashamed of.

It was not long before he begged her, “Wait, _wait_. Enough, Pirate King, or this will be over before it has begun.”

She withdrew with a rather cheeky smirk, causing him to narrow his eyes playfully as he leaned down to kiss her. “Saucy girl. You make me feel a score of years younger.”

Elizabeth sighed as he bore her down upon the bed, hands running over the curves of his biceps appreciatively. “I can’t imagine you as a randy midshipmen terrorizing the girls on shore leave,” she confessed.

He’d actually already been a lieutenant twenty years ago, but he didn’t correct her. James chuckled against the skin of her throat, stealing another long kiss that curled her toes. “I don’t think I terrorized them _too_ badly,” he defended with a small smile.

Elizabeth bit her lip, glancing down at his manhood standing proud between his legs. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“I promise I’ll be gentle,” he told her as he fit himself between her thighs, mistaking her quip for reservation.

Her lips twisted in a smirk. “You’d better not,” she retorted, purring as she felt the searing heat of his cock upon her slit. She undulated against him, winning a ragged groan. As she strained to capture his body inside hers he moved his hips just so, teasing her by barely touching her folds with his tip. He badly wanted to drive himself inside her, but as usual Sir James was a bastion of self-control.

“Is this real?” he asked with wonder, looking down at her as he slid the tip of his cock slowly up and down her moist quim. “Am I going to wake up from this dream at any moment?”

Elizabeth reached up to cup his face in her hands, caressing his cheek as his eyes met hers. Their eye-contact sent something like a bolt of lightning through both of them, and of their own volition their hips moved closer. “ _It’s real, James_ ,” she assured him, and in that moment she meant far more than just the physical event that was about to take place. “Go on,” she urged him, rolling her hips against him. “ _Make me yours._ ”

He could not resist her any longer. His eyes locked with hers, slowly he slid inside her, working his hips little by little until he was sheathed to the hilt. Only at the end did he close his eyes, unable to keep them open when at the mercy of such extreme pleasure.

 _Nothing_ had ever felt _so good._

He might have said that aloud. He wasn’t really sure. Her back arched with a cry of surprise when he was completely inside; her head tilted back, her eyes closed in abandon; at the sight James could have swore he was making love to a goddess. Slowly he withdrew and advanced once more, and she wrapped her long legs around his hips, pulling him deeper.

“Do that again,” she demanded in a husky voice, and he couldn’t help but smile a little. Two sea captains in bed together undoubtedly would result in some orders flung across the decks, but he supposed they would have to take turns on who was to lead. It was a dilemma he’d never experienced before.

Bracing himself on one arm, he reached down to touch her as he moved inside her, circling that divine nub of flesh slowly, his thumb moving in tandem with his hips. Elizabeth panted as she neared that shining edge once more. Just as she was about to come James withdrew, winning a fierce growl of protest that caused him to smile rather wickedly for such an upstanding man.

“Would it hurt your back if I were to put my weight on you?” he asked, and his worry for her was impossibly endearing.

“No,” she lied, wanting James upon her more than she wanted anything else. Perhaps it was not the most creative position, but it was the sweetest, and despite all her libertine’s knowledge and the vast extent of her depravity—it was her favorite. They moved to the center of the bed, and their bodies came together again with a ridiculous ease for first time lovers, as though they were always meant to be that way. James held her close with his arm beneath her shoulders, his emerald green eyes fixed on hers.

“ _I love you_ ,” he told her as he moved inside her, rolling his hips _just so_ in a way that drove her to madness.

“ _I love you too_ ,” she said, and it felt easier this time, less like she might have to duck a hail of bullets the moment the damning words left her lips. “And, I think I love this,” she teased, wrapping her legs high about his waist, doubling the pressure of her quim squeezing his cock.

“ _Oh God, Elizabeth_ ,” he rasped against her neck, and kissed her greedily as he thrust hard inside her. It was just what she needed to send her over the edge, her release washing over her, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming so loud that she woke the house. It was enough to undo him completely, and with a shudder he spent himself inside her, chanting her name like a prayer.

In the quiet afterwards Elizabeth snuggled into his arms, her head fitted perfectly against his shoulder. “You aren’t going to send me back to my room now, are you?” she teased, smoothing her palm over his chest.

James chuckled, kissing her hair. “No, you’ve been a very good girl,” he fired back, winning a laugh from his Pirate King. There was very little he loved more, than hearing her laugh. Well. Perhaps hearing her cry his name, in that particular way she had tonight…

Exhausted, he fell asleep with that last thought on his mind, a smile on his lips, and Elizabeth filling his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Umm, so I totally made up the earthquake of [17]25. The real whopper was in 1692, which leveled most of Port Royal and caused the relocation of the capital to Kingston across the harbor. But Port Royal did remain a naval base for a long time, which is why earlier James threatened to have Fitzwilliam carted there for a court martial.


	14. The Bearer of His Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Elizabeth discuss their future.

If the fact that Elizabeth had never returned to her bed the night before had not made the previous evening’s events obvious enough, Millie found a rather incriminating tableau spread across the parlor. Governor Norrington’s wig sat upon the settee cushion like a forgotten little pet, his neck cloth draped over the back of the settee, his pin stabbed into the upholstery like a pin cushion. A single pink satin ribbon from Miss Swann’s stockings lay discarded on the floor.

No, there was no question of what was going on in the Governor’s house between Sir James and the Pirate King, but no one amongst the help really minded, or even was terribly surprised after watching them circle for so long. Millie wished them happy, and reckoned it would only be a matter of time before the King signed the pardon and married the Governor once and for all. At the very least, it would mean a generous Boxing Day that year.

Sheridan too had his suspicions upon entering the breakfast room, finding James and Elizabeth already at table, mooning at each other with silly little grins over their teacups. Something had certainly changed between them; a tension that had always been present before now seemed evaporated from the air. He waited to see if they would share some news that congratulations was due, but in the way of adults who think children do not see what is right before their eyes, they pretended as though nothing had changed.

Sheridan barely suppressed an eye-roll for every little gesture that passed between them with an extra measure of sweetness, a sigh or a lingering brush of fingers when passing the jam or the sugar or anything else on the table to make the excuse.

But secretly, he was very pleased.

Their affair went on for what felt like could be an endless series of halcyon days. The Governor would come home early for lunch and everyone in the house would pretend they did not notice the couple gone missing for an hour or more, or the occasional sounds of wanton passion that drifted down the hall.

Some days they would disappear on the horses to go ride the beach and who knows where else. Sometimes they returned separately, but sometimes riding together, Elizabeth tucked neatly on the saddle in front of James, his arm around her waist.

One day Sheridan watched from the window as the love-struck pair danced a set in the garden, smiling like fools, their feet moving to some tune only they could hear. The kiss they shared at its conclusion would have caused a society ballroom to erupt in scandalized whispers.

Elizabeth would slip into his room at night after the rest of the house had gone to bed. She would spend most of the night there, though sometimes she would disappear in the early morning hours. James reckoned she still needed _some_ alone time, and thought nothing of it. She always came back to him, and that was all that mattered.

One evening while wrapped in his arms after a particularly vigorous session of lovemaking she asked him, “What did you imagine our lives would be like, back in Port Royal? What did you dream?”

He laughed at himself and tried to put her off the scent with a self-deprecating remark about a doddering sea captain’s silly hopes, but she would not let him off the hook. He wondered why she wanted to know so badly, for she was constantly telling him to live in the _now,_ and to not dwell on the past. He’d thought he was doing a rather good job of it, restraining himself from mourning what had gone wrong in the past or pressing her too hard for a decision about the future.

Of course, he _thought_ about it.

Every day. Every hour.

But he knew if he dogged her with demands it could spoil _everything_ , so he held himself back with every ounce of patience he had.

“I suppose I dreamed of the usual things,” he admitted. “A home for my beautiful wife, and eventually children too. I confess I never thought much about the wedding itself, only that it would take place. I _did_ think quite a bit about our wedding night.” This last was punctuated with a blush. Elizabeth could not see it in the dark, but she could feel the heat on his skin and she _knew._

So many things she simply _knew_ about James Norrington now. She saw him like she never had before.

“What about our wedding night?” she pressed.

“It was so long ago,” he attempted to evade, but she knew it was rubbish and she pounced, perching on his chest.

“I know you remember. You remember everything.”

James sighed, and finally smiled. He stroked her hair as he said, “I thought of what it would be like to touch you for the first time. I thought of ways…to make it more pleasant for you. I wanted to please you, and I wanted you to trust me, to trust _in_ me..”

Elizabeth pressed her lips, thinking about her first time with Will Turner. It had been _rubbish,_ pure and simple. They were so young and _stupid_. At that time, also very drunk, which she supposed she could blame on Jack, if blame needed laying. “It would have been nice if it had been you,” she sighed, laying her head back down on his chest. “My first time was _awful._ ”

“Jack?” asked James hopefully, though still dubious of the prospect of discussing this with her.

A small laugh escaped Elizabeth at the thought, _as if._ “No. It was Will.”

A long silence drew out between them, and finally James got up the pluck to ask, “Where _is_ Will Turner now? What is _the Dutchman_?”

Elizabeth sighed, tracing a pattern upon his pectoral. “He’s the Ferryman now,” she said quietly. “The Charon for those who die at sea. He takes them across. He stabbed the heart of Davy Jones, so he had to take Davy’s place. Ten years at sea, one day ashore, forever.”

None of this made _any_ sense to James, and so he lay there dumbly. A chill seemed to have taken over Elizabeth, and so he pulled up the sheets, kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry,” he offered. It was almost true.

“I’m sorry for him,” she admitted. They had fallen out with each other before Will had sealed his fate, and she’d had Jack to lessen the blow of losing her childhood sweetheart to the sea. “What else?” she prompted, causing James to raise his eyebrow.

“What else, what?”

“What else did you think of? The first time you wanted to marry me.”

James wondered if he was helping his case now, or pounding more nails in his coffin with these admissions. And yet it was easy now to tell her these things. At long last, she felt like a safe place to lay his head. At that thought he shifted them so that he could rest upon her chest. “Not much cushion there, sorry,” she teased, but he scoffed.

“Hush. You’re perfect.” Her heartbeat against his ear was strong and true; it was a soothing sound. “I thought about coming home early from a cruise. I wanted to send the maids away while you were in your bath, and surprise you when you realized it was me washing your shoulders with the sponge. I thought about what it might be like to reach down into the water to touch you, and find your belly swollen with our child. I thought about being greeted at the door by the sound of little trampling feet and hugs around the neck. And we would go for walks on the beach with our children and hold hands and scandalized passers-by be damned.”

Raptly she listened to several more similar scenarios like this. He’d thought that loving her could set him _free_ , it seemed. In so many ways James Norrington had longed for freedom from the stifling rules of society in the same way she had. She knew a pang of bitterness that clearly he imagined he would be off having his adventures on the sea while she stayed at home, raising the children and keeping the house. But she still could not help but be moved. She’d been the Bearer of his Dreams, like some Greek tale of old, spinning these wondrous things for him to come home to. A woman of near _mythical_ power in his estimation, even if a goddess of hearth and home.

Would she have been so unhappy? Perhaps at first. She’d been so _restless_ in her youth. It was hard to imagine leading the life that had been intended for her, compared to the life that she’d stolen for herself. But now, everything had changed. There were questions that needed answers, _urgently_.

“And now?” she pressed on, sliding fingers through his thick hair. “What life could we lead together, _now_?”

Now James could hear her heart _and_ his own pounding in his ears. _This_ was a far more dangerous question than musing on the past. Like any good military man it left him with a sense of premonition for a great battle to come. “If you take the pardon,” he began cautiously, “We can marry and do anything that you want.”

There was a long pause in which the only sound in the room was their breathing. “You would resign your post?” she asked with some disbelief.

James shrugged. In the face of keeping _her,_ being the Governor of a colonial backwater didn’t really seem so important to him. “If there was somewhere else you wished to go.”

Her voice came so hushed that it was nearly inaudible in the darkness, yet it was filled with such pregnant _hope_. “Home?”

“Jamaica? Of course, if you want. That could be very pleasant.”

“No. I mean the Cove.”

He’d been afraid that was what she meant, really. A heavy sigh escaped him. “No. Anywhere but there, Elizabeth.”

“It _is_ my home.”

“Not anymore.”

She stiffened beneath him, and he felt a tremor run through her before she extricated herself from his arms, vacating the bed. “I am afraid, James Norrington,” she said as she snatched up her dressing gown. “That you do not get to _tell_ me where my home is.” She covered herself and paced, suddenly edgy as a caged tiger.

“Elizabeth…” James was at a loss, for he’d somehow thought this was all but obvious. “You cannot return to Shipwreck Cove.”

“I _could,_ ” she argued. “ _We_ could.”

“And live on an island filled with pirates and villains?”

Suddenly she stopped her pacing, standing still as a statue as she hugged herself by the window. She could not have looked more hurt had he _slapped_ her. “We _dined_ with a villain just the other night. You entertained him at your table like you were the best of friends!”

“Are you referring to _Mr. Dover_?”

“Yes. _Yes_ I am referring to _Mr. Dover._ That fat fuck who owns _hundreds_ of slaves and thinks nothing of using them like cattle! _Worse_ than cattle; no farmer burns his beasts alive in punishment when they jump the fence for greener pasture.”

James felt more than a little dumbfounded, but he’d learned it would be a damned mistake to say to her _that’s just the way things are._

She spared him the need to further put his foot in his mouth, going on, “Have you listened to _anything_ I have said about what the Cove is like now? It is a place where men and women are free and _equal._ And people of all colors are _equal._ A place of _opportunity_ and ideas...”

“A place where it would be safe to raise children?” James dared ask, and Elizabeth’s frown only darkened.

“ _All_ children are safe in the Cove. We cherish our young ones, and _all_ are educated regardless of their parents’ finances. It’s more than you can say for England and her backward ways. James, I would be your _property_ if we stay here. I cannot… _I cannot!_ ”

James sighed. “It is just…a formality. Words on a piece of paper. You know I would never treat you in such a way.”

“Words have great power, as I think you well know.” Her voice was suddenly eerily calm. This was not the firestorm he’d expected, when the time came for this inevitable conversation. Somehow though, this quiet was worse than her fury.

“Elizabeth, _I love you._ You _are_ my equal and I would _always_ treat you as such.”

“But you would not live in the one place where we could actually _be_ as such.”

“Would I be your equal, in a place where _you_ are King?” he asked, unable to resist playing the devil’s advocate.

She turned to him then, a sad smile curling the corner of her mouth. “I promise I would _treat_ you as such. Is that not enough? _King_ is just a word, after all. Like _wife_. Like _property_.”

“What is it you think I would _do_ to you? Why do you trust me so little?”

“Is it the principle of the matter. I would be at your mercy. I have been a woman at the mercy of men before, and I did not like it one bit. Forgive me if I am not eager to do it again.”

“You have _been_ at my mercy all this time! And see how cruelly I have treated you?” James held his arms wide, gesturing to the bed where they had just laid exhausted from their lovemaking. The bed where he trusted her so implicitly that he not only slept beside her, but that he _could not_ sleep without her. He wondered if her experiences with Jack did not color her perception of their own relationship. “Elizabeth, I will _never_ stop loving you. If my love did not fade before, why do you think it would when I finally _have_ you?”

She paid him a small sad smile. “Just so, James. You don’t know what it’s like to live with me. Not really.”

James huffed, incredulous that they were even having this conversation. “Oh, I think I _know,_ very well by now _._ ” He held out his hands to her, at a loss for what else to say. “Elizabeth,” he pleaded. “ _Please_ …” His heart was making a slow plummet to his stomach. With every second that ticked by he could _feel_ her drifting farther and farther away from him, and he didn’t know what to do to stop it.

She looked down at her feet, saying quietly, “I know you have the best of intentions, James. You always do.”

“I _love_ you.”

“I know. But…what do you need to be _happy?_ Once upon a time I would have sworn the answer to that question was a Navy ship and a commission to command her. But you left that life, only to take on another type of command. Is it _power_ you need?”

James shook his head. For though most of his adult life he’d held positions of authority, it was not _power_ he craved. It was _duty,_ and _honor,_ and those other intangible things that got him out of bed early in the morning and drove him every day to strive for perfection in what he did. “I have always wanted to do my part to make the world a better place. Perhaps we are alike in that way, if not in wildly different practice. But I have given England my _life._ My blood, sweat, and tears. I have done my _duty,_ Elizabeth, and in my heart of hearts I know I came here to find _you._ What I need to be happy now is _you._ ”

“Me?” He prayed he saw some hope, some _light_ in her impossibly dark eyes in that moment. Some possibility that their cause was not lost _so soon._

“ _Yes_.” He’d never been more certain of anything in his life. What more could he say to convince her? How did she _not_ know? Exasperated, James sighed, rubbing his face in his hands. “You will need to make a decision soon, you know. As much as I would like to, we cannot go on in this idyllic existence forever. People have already begun to talk.”

“I’m sure they have,” she scoffed, turning her face away, and though he could not see her eye roll he knew it occurred.

James’ patience began to grow thin. “I mean it, Elizabeth. You have put this off long enough.”

“Is that an ultimatum?” She sounded tired in that moment, and James felt cold all over, afraid of what that meant.

“If it is?” he dared. If she would not respond to sweetness perhaps a firmer hand would serve.

She turned to him then, lifting her chin defiantly. In that moment, even in a flowery silk dressing gown, she looked every part the regal Pirate King. “Then you will have my decision tomorrow morning.”

Before he could say anything more she stalked from the room, and James found he was shaking in his own bed. He narrowly resisted the urge to lie down and _cry_ , for he was so certain that in the end she would not chose _him_.

After all, she never did.


	15. One Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pirate King makes her decision.

 

After a sleepless night in which James had tossed and turned in his empty bed, unable to sleep without Elizabeth in his arms, feeling as though the sword of Damocles hovered overhead, the Governor went down to breakfast with all the solemnity of a man expecting to receive his death sentence.

What he found was not so far off the mark.

Elizabeth sat at the breakfast table with her back to the wall, her booted feet propped up on the table. Kohl once again lined her large eyes, and she wore a black shirt unbuttoned at the throat, a crimson red sash, and dark brown breeches. She looked absolutely fierce, and most alarmingly of all, she clasped a large pistol in her hand, resting the long barrel upon her knee as she aimed so as not to tire her arm. Another lay in reach upon the table, chased in intricate silver patterns, a lovely but deadly tool of violence fit for a King.

“Elizabeth?”

“Good morning, Governor. I have reached my decision, and I have decided that I am going home.”

Her expression was inscrutable, her eyes hard as flint. Gone was the woman who had shared his bed this past month. He was dealing with the Pirate King now, and he now had little doubt she would do _anything_ she deemed necessary to have her way.

With a glance he took in the rest of the room. Millie and Cook sat against a wall, bound at the wrists, gagged with linen towels tied about their heads. Otherwise, they seemed unharmed. The negroes Joe and Rebecca were not bound, but stood at a distance with their hands clasped in front of them. Lastly, Sheridan sat at the table, his hands in his lap, presumably tied, and his head bowed sadly.

James closed his eyes against the pain in his heart; it would have been _very_ easy to let it take him to his knees. But he still retained _some_ dignity, so he held his chin high. “Where did you get those?” he asked, referring to the pistols. “They’re not mine.”

“From the false bottom of my trunk, which you missed in your search, thank you very much.”

She’d had them _this whole time._

He’d never felt like a more perfect fool than in that moment.

“And just how is it you think you’re going back to the Cove?”

“You’ll see. Jengo, would you be so kind as to tie the Governor’s hands?”

Joe stepped forward with a length of rope at the ready, and James suddenly felt rather ashamed that he’d never known the man’s real name, or even thought to ask. With a pistol trained steadily on him and no doubt that Elizabeth would pull the trigger, James let Jengo tie his hands, and distantly appreciated with a seaman’s eye that the knots seemed perfectly sound.

Elizabeth said a few words to Jengo and his wife in their native tongue, and they nodded, making their way for the door. She stood from her seat. “Our carriage is waiting, Governor Norrington.”

She looked to Sheridan, and paused when she beheld the glitter of slow tears running down his cheeks. With an eye on James she went to the boy, whispering something inaudible in his ear. She appeared to ask him a question, and he nodded, taking a deep breath that seemed to bolster him. In an inexplicably tender gesture she kissed his cheek, but there was no softness in her voice when she returned her focus to James, ordering, “Move. My patience has run thin with this place.”

Stoically James went outside to find the carriage fully outfitted, horses flicking their tails disinterestedly. It was a mode of transportation he didn’t usually use, as it was unbearably stuffy in the Bahamian heat, but he understood her reasoning all too well. Joe and Rebecca climbed up to the driver’s bench. “To the docks, then?”

“Nay, we have a stop to make at the fort first.”

He bowed his head, unable to suppress a chuckle at his naivety. “Of _course_.”

“No hysterics, if you please, Governor. Come on, in you go.” James did as he was told, climbing into the carriage, and she followed, taking the seat opposite him.

The gun never wavered.

James would have preferred to look out the window, as it _hurt_ like a sword to the gut to look at _her_ , but Elizabeth pulled the curtains, hiding them from sight.

Had _any_ of their time together been real?

He could not bring himself to ask.

Even if she had given him an opportunity to take the gun, which she did not, he did not believe he would have tried. He’d never felt so defeated in his life. Not when Jack Sparrow escaped from under his nose. Not when she jilted him the first time. Not when he was captured by the Barbary corsairs.

The ride to the fort was mercifully silent, and they swayed in their seats as the carriage climbed the steep hill. His legs were so long that it was difficult not to touch her now and then; when their knees did bump he flinched away, but she remained stone cold.

They were allowed into the keep without a fuss, as nothing seemed amiss with the Governor’s carriage coming to call on the fort.

However, when Governor Norrington stepped down from his carriage, followed by a Pirate King in full regalia holding a pistol to the back of his head, it was _quite_ apparent that all was not well. “Sergeant Marshall!” barked Elizabeth, and the bewildered man in his bright red uniform stepped forward. “Tell your men to put down their guns, unless you wish to see the inside of Governor Norrington’s skull.”

Though clearly he hated it, the Sergeant gave the order. James watched as Elizabeth took back her fort without firing a _single_ shot. Her pirates surged forward, dropping their tools to pick up the abandoned muskets. When one made as if to hit one of the Marines Elizabeth called, “Mister Andrews! None of that, if you please. Let us prove we are better men than these _civilized_ people give us credit for.”

Andrews bared his teeth at the Marine in a menacing smile, and Elizabeth reckoned there was a score to be settled between them. It would have to wait for another day; an uncontrollable feeding frenzy of violence was the last thing she wanted right now. She delegated a handful of her men to take some unarmed marines into the fort to free the remaining prisoners from their holding cells. “Meanwhile, Gents, spike those guns!”

Her Brethren did so with gusto, ensuring that their escape would not be dogged by canon fire as they made their way out of the harbor. When the last of her men were freed from the bowels of the fort, the soldiers disarmed and bound up like hogs, the pirates made a mass exodus for the docks, marching proudly down from the fort and through the middle of the town.

It was a small blessing that no one tried to resist, the townsfolk watching the procession wide eyed and with mouths agape from their balconies, some of the pardoned even smiling amusedly as though they had expected this coup all along. At the head of it all was the Pirate King and her prisoner, the proud Governor Norrington who remained stoic and stood tall.

As they walked she called to the watching crowd, “Anyone who has taken the pardon but would like to return to the Cove may join us! I will grant you leniency just this once, but after this day we will be enemies, make no mistake.”

Several former pirates joined their ranks, smiling sheepishly or with relieved expressions. As they approached the docks two ships were moored: _The Artemis_ and Hornigold’s sloop _The Marion._ A storm had separated Fitzwilliam’s _The Mako_ from her tender, _The Artemis._ The latter ship had just pulled into dock the previous day to await reuniting with her master. The Pirate King could not have timed her reclamation of her vessel more perfectly.

“You’ll never fit all these men on _The Artemis,_ ” said James quietly.

“Perhaps not. But they will fit on _The Artemis_ and _The Marion._ ”

“You plan to split forces to fight them both? A foolhardy plan, Pirate King.”

Maybe, just _maybe_ he could talk her down from this.

But she simply smiled, and only now that she was in sight of her precious ship was there a _little_ warmth in it. “I only need to fight the _one_ , darling. Now hush.”

In that moment the true magnitude of her deceit dawned upon James, hitting him like a volley of 12 pound shot. This was no spur of the moment escape sparked by a lover’s quarrel. James realized that she was in league with Hornigold, and had been _all along_. The scope of this caper could have floored him had he not already been so determined to keep his composure; she’d _allowed_ herself be captured. She’d infiltrated Nassau, and _his home,_ with all the ease of a clever snake in the grass. And he’d _let_ her, with open arms.

It had _all_ been a lie.

From her kind words to her kisses to her most intimate embrace.

Every _little_ bit, a clever, perfectly orchestrated ruse to put him off guard, so that she may free her precious pirates.

She’d played him like a flute, like the fucking fool he was.

He ground his teeth in his efforts not to _cry_. _Never_ had he felt so hopeless in all his life, as in that moment. He _deserved_ to be shot in the head for the perfect flat he’d been. Death would have been preferable to this wretched pain of betrayal that gnawed at his guts.

“Spare me your endearments, Pirate King. I was never your darling, was I?” His words came cold, and he congratulated himself on managing not to choke on his own voice.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes, but did not dignify his statement with an answer.

Lieutenant Grey, the acting captain of _The Artemis,_ presented himself at the gangway flanked by several armed Marines. The opposing forces stood locked in standoff, muskets at the ready. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Grey,” called Elizabeth, her pistol still firmly pointed at James’ head.

“Or what?” asked Grey with a smirk. “You’ll shoot Governor Norrington? A fate I’d say the traitor deserves at this stage, have at it.”

“ _Enrique_ ,” she said in a low voice, and without hesitation her quartermaster fired a single shot that took Grey in the throat. The Lieutenant fell back, only the soles of his boots visible from the dock. Everyone else on _The Artemis_ seemed too stunned to move.

“You’re outnumbered and outgunned,” called Elizabeth to the remaining crew of _The Artemis._ “Put down your guns and get the fuck out, and no one else needs to die today.”

To James’ utter astonishment they put up no fight, choosing to lay down their weapons and file one by one down the gangway, hands raised high. Apparently Grey had not been popular enough to avenge, which perhaps was no great surprise. His body was unceremoniously tossed into the harbor.

The mob of pirates split themselves between the two ships, and began to prepare to make sail. Elizabeth ordered James into her cabin, where she quickly tied him to her carved mahogany desk chair. He let her; he had no fight to offer. He rather wished that she’d just shot him to spare him this _agony_. It would have been easier that way _._

“I’ll be back in a moment,” she said tersely, and went back out on deck to bark orders at her crew. She knew what she was about, and in no time _The Artemis_ and _The Marion_ made for open waters, leaving Nassau in their wake.

Elizabeth saluted across the bow to Captain Hornigold, who returned the gesture with the removal of his hat and a deep bow, a smile crinkling the old sea captain’s face.

She’d sacked Nassau by firing only _one_ shot, but that single one had been worth it.


	16. Masterfully Handled

In a little while, when Nassau was but a dot in the distance through the aft windows, Elizabeth returned to her cabin. James was where she’d left him, naturally. She clasped a plate of food in hand, and lay it upon the desk before him. “I thought you might be hungry, as your breakfast was so rudely interrupted.”

James said nothing in reply, merely regarding her with the look of a dog that had been kicked one too many times. She sighed, knowing she very well deserved that look. The Pirate King worked at untying her knots from his wrists on the chair, and when her fingers brushed his skin he recoiled as though she’d burned him. She pretended not to notice. “I don’t think I have to remind you the fruitlessness of doing something heroic and foolish. I swear no harm will come to you. I will return you in good order wherever you wish in time. Or…”

By the dark look in his eyes, she dared not finish her thought.

“What did you say to Sheridan?” James asked, hardly recognizing his own voice.

“I promised him that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

James laughed harshly. “A tall order when holding a pistol to a man’s head. I assume the Pirate King keeps a hair trigger on all her weapons.”

Her face remained inscrutable, but Elizabeth pulled the pistol from her sash, aiming it for the ceiling. She pulled the trigger, and James flinched in anticipation of the explosion.

There was only a crisp _click,_ and James reckoned the sound of his heart pounding resonated louder than the gunshot would have been.

“Unloaded the whole time, James.”

Without another word she exited the cabin, leaving a hurricane of emotion in her wake.

 _Unloaded,_ thought James over and over. She’d taken the whole fort of Nassau with an _unloaded_ pistol.

He laughed, a harsh bark that undoubtedly sounded crazy as a lunatic. And then in the privacy of her Captain’s quarters, he did cry quietly, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks. He cried the way he had the day he learned Elizabeth would rather be a pirate than his wife so many years ago, and again when he’d left the Caribbean, certain he would never see her again.

Now and then he heard her give an order about trimming the sails. He also heard her laughter, and somehow he could pick out her voice over the din of the pirates’ boisterous songs.

He thought to hold out a bit over the food, but in the end he relented. Maybe he would get lucky for a change, and it would be poisoned.

Night fell, and still Elizabeth remained out of the cabin. Though he knew he would not sleep, James took her berth. Thankfully it did not smell of her; its last occupant had been Grey, he supposed.

He’d not been sorry when the man got himself shot. A terrible thing, perhaps, but he knew there was something more Grey had done to Elizabeth than _tie her up._ She was too proud to admit it, and he supposed he didn’t blame her.

There were plenty of other things he could blame her for.

James was staring at the ceiling with his arms behind his head when at last the cabin door creaked open. He feigned sleep, not exactly caring for a conversation about how _stupid_ he was. Elizabeth quietly made her way across the deck to her desk. She paused for a moment to look down at him in the berth, and sighed.

He wondered what that meant? Pity, most likely, for the biggest fucking fool in the Caribbean.

James listened as she divested herself of her accoutrements. Two heavy thunks that undoubtedly were her pistols. A softer thud that was perhaps a knife. And a clicking that sounded distinctly like the coiling of a strand of pearls upon the table top. The latter was what gave him the most pause. She’d had to leave most of her belongings behind. Did it mean something that she’d decided to bring her pearls? Or simply that she was a magpie who could not resist hoarding a bit more treasure.

Elizabeth curled up in her chair and seemed to try to sleep. But she kept fidgeting, and James knew she would find no rest there. “Would you like the berth?” he asked quietly. “It’s yours, after all.”

The Pirate King was very quiet for a long time, until finally she stood, crossing the floor to stand beside the hanging bed. She wore her shirt and breeches; her sash and weapons remaining on the desk. Was it trust, or did she think so little of him, that he could not harm her?

Elizabeth found that she was shaking as she faced him, and crossed her arms over her narrow torso in an attempt to hold herself steady.

It had been quite a day, but the hardest part had been fooling the man in front of her.

“I would share it with you,” she dared, fully expecting to be turned down and spat at besides.

There was a long silence that stretched out between them, and Elizabeth resisted the urge to find the tinderbox and lamp, _needing_ to see James’ face. His handsome visage was cast almost completely in shadow, rendering him an utter mystery.

“That is surprising,” he finally said, but no more than that. He waited for her next move, the sound of his heartbeat thundering in his ears, and Elizabeth sighed again, raking her fingers through her hair.

“I’m _sorry_ James. But I had to do it, for my _people_.”

“Was it all a lie?” It was the question he dreaded the answer most, but in that moment he _had_ to know. He was a glutton for punishment, he supposed.

“At first, I suppose. When I heard the appointed Royal Governor to New Providence was _you_ , and that you had been sniping away my subjects with your threat of pardon or death…I had to do something.” She’d devised with Hornigold for the “reformed” pirate to bring her in. Fitzwilliam had been a nasty unexpected complication, but for the most part it went as planned. “I reckoned I could handle you without too much trouble.”

“Oh, you _handled_ me, Pirate King,” he snarked bitterly. “ _Masterfully_ so. Bravo.”

She huffed indignantly. “Yes, and then _you_ handled _me_ right back, Sir James, with your pure heart and true affection, damn you.”

“I _loved_ you!” he exclaimed, sitting up in bed so quickly that Elizabeth took a cautious step back. “I loved, you, and you just…”

_Cut out his heart, again._

“So it’s past tense now?” She sounded surprisingly sad for someone who had led him on such a merry snipe hunt.

James growled in answer, unable to admit that it was not past tense, and _never_ would be, no matter what she did to him. She owned him, lock stock and barrel. She didn’t need ropes or a gun to hold him prisoner. She never did.

She turned her back, rocking on her heels as though she meant to dash out the door once more. “That’s a shame, because I find myself still very in love with you, and you would be welcome to stay with me in Shipwreck Cove for as long as you may like.”

There was a sudden ringing in James’ ears, as though he’d stood right next to a fantastic explosion. Before she could dart away he reached out to grab her arm, wrenching her back to the bed. “I cannot _endure_ this, Elizabeth,” he spat. “So help me God, if you are lying, just promise me you will shoot me dead rather than tell me, because my old heart cannot _take_ losing you again.” He pulled her to him roughly, and with a small yelp she sprawled onto the bed on top of him. He gave her no chance to right herself or even take a breath; immediately his mouth was on hers, his kiss a sultry, punishing, _bone-melting_ thing.

His hands were somehow both frantic and sure, and she surrendered to him as he divested her of her shirt and breeches, tearing buttons that would not quickly submit, pausing only to kiss and suckle and bite the flesh he revealed. There would be marks a plenty, but she didn’t care. She took all his fury with a fierce smile, dragging his mouth back up to hers with a hand fisted in his thick dark hair. She spread her legs for him in invitation and with little preamble he buried himself inside her, thrusting _hard._ But she was wet and ready and she took his body inside her hungrily, still wanting _more._ He kissed her deeply as he took her, one hand in her hair and the other pinning her wrist to the berth. She loved every furious second of it, goading him on, demanding more with her mouth and her cries and her nails digging into his hip. The ride to that shining peak came quickly and without mercy, leaving them both sweating and gasping for breath in each other’s arms when it was done.

James rolled onto his back, pulling her into his arms, kissing her forehead with a rather bewildered expression. What had she _done_ to him? He’d never taken a woman so roughly in _all_ his life, but she only sighed contentedly and stretched like a satisfied cat, tangling her long legs with his. She kissed his throat lazily, her lips lingering on his pulse. “ _I love you,”_ she whispered in the dark, and God help him, but he believed her.


	17. If A Pirate I Must Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secret is revealed, and James makes a life changing decision.

Elizabeth woke to the first rays of dawn coming through the aft windows. The newly whitewashed cabin did make everything seem so _fresh_ , and she supposed that maybe she could get used to it. Perhaps it was fitting for this new chapter of her life.

James held her in his arms, his long body curled around her backside. Her vision focused on his arm before her, his large hand and strong wrist, and the wiry dark hair that covered the swell of his muscular forearm. She could feel his heart beating steadily against her back, his slow breathing stirring her hair. His groin was soft against her buttocks, and his legs twined with hers. Her toes stroked the curve of his foot, and he emitted a small sound in his sleep that made her heart swell to bursting with love.

Could life be more perfect than in this moment? Free, on her own ship, the sound of rushing water all around as _the Artemis_ cut through the azure blue waters of the Caribbean, homeward bound to Shipwreck Cove. It was good, but perhaps once she set foot on the Cove’s dock she would feel like she could breathe again.

Then her stomach lurched, as it had been doing in the morning for a couple weeks now, and quickly she extricated herself from the bed, throwing on James’ large shirt as she made a mad dash for the railing outside.

With a seaman’s knack for rising at the drop of a hat James’ woke to the scramble, and through bleary eyes he watched Elizabeth dart out the door of the cabin. He’d never followed her before when she vacated the bed so early in the morning, but this time his curiosity was piqued beyond resistance.

She’d taken his shirt, so he pulled on his breeches. If he couldn’t walk around bare chested on a pirate ship, he didn’t know where else in the world it would be permitted. As he quietly shut the cabin door behind him he beheld Elizabeth at the gunwale, retching her guts out over the side. And then when she was finished she began to cry. She _wept,_ and it was a thing James _never_ thought to see from the usually unflappable Pirate King.

It dawned on him then why she was _so desperate_ to return to _her_ home. Her questions of what their life could be like together, and her seemingly lightning quick decision. He reckoned she’d never felt so helpless to fate as she did now. A medley of excitement and fear suddenly bloomed within his belly, and he did not entirely trust his sea legs as he approached her. “Elizabeth?” He held out his arms, but she extended her hand in a staying gesture with a wild look in her eyes, keeping him at bay.

He turned his palms up, placating, _beseeching._

“You are with child.” He did not ask; he was _so_ certain in that moment.

Wiping at her eyes and her mouth, she nodded once. Even in only his shirt, the hem of which hung down to her mid-thighs, her mane of golden hair shining in the freshly risen sun, she looked every part the forbidding lioness that she was.

Finally she spoke. “Indeed. Are you pleased with yourself, Governor Norrington?”

He frowned at her tone. He didn’t want to do battle. It seemed so pointless now. “I cannot claim displeasure at the revelation. Elizabeth…” He reached out to her again. “We need not be enemies.” Hadn’t they come to this understanding last night? “I _love_ you.”

“You say that now, but I wonder how long it will last. If I survive this ordeal I intend to raise him or her in _my_ kingdom. My child will reap the freedoms of the society I have worked _so hard_ to build. I will not compromise on that.”

James dared take another step closer. “And do I fit in anywhere in this grand plan of yours?” he asked, rather fearing the answer, no matter what had been said in the heat of passion the night before.

She seemed to soften slightly. “I would like very much to have you by my side,” she admitted, daring to bare her heart to him.

James let loose a sigh of relief. He was very aware of the eyes of the crew upon them; surely they stood at the ready to exterminate him at first sign of displeasure from their King, but he did not care. “I assure you, there is nowhere I would rather be, Your Highness.” Though this had always been his truth, he felt it now with the most concrete certainty in his heart that no matter what complications they faced, he would stand with _her._

“Could you really do it, James? Forsake allegiance to King and Country? Your life’s work? For _me_?” She looked down at her belly, touching the still flat plane with a mixture of trepidation and wonder in her eyes. It seemed so surreal that a _person_ could be growing inside her, too tiny to even see at that moment. “For _us_?”

She knew that her demands were steep. She knew it was not entirely fair. She required his utmost devotion and loyalty, and also that she would retain every iota of her own hard won freedom. And yet was that not what a husband usually demanded of a wife, when she was forced to leave all that she knew to throw herself on his mercy?

James dared take yet another step towards her, and she was _almost_ in reach. From this close he could see that she trembled, though she put on a brave face. “Elizabeth. I have lived with you, and I have lived without you, which I know now was no living at all. I _know_ which I prefer. So, if a pirate I must be…” He held his hands wide once more, a gesture of _what can I do?_ James willed her to believe him, his heart in his throat. For all the copious danger he'd faced in his lifetime, never more had he felt his very _life_ hung in the balance, as in this moment. _  
_

A laugh that sounded almost like a sob escaped Elizabeth, and she launched herself into his arms. James held her fiercely, kissing her hair, pure _relief_ coursing through his veins. “You are the most infuriating woman I have ever met,” he sighed, resting his forehead against hers.

Her lips curled in a smile. “And?” she prompted cheekily, winning a shaky laugh.

“And I love you with every fibre of my being, Pirate King.”

“I love you too, Governor Norrington.”

“I think that is officially _former_ Governor now.”

She laughed and almost kissed him, until she remembered what had sent her running for the rail. “Perhaps you would like me to rinse out my mouth,” she said with a little laugh.

“Perhaps we can do that inside your cabin?” Vaguely James was aware of chuckling in the background and some low whistles, and suddenly he wondered if she had not flashed her bare bottom at the whole crew when she leapt into his arms. Piratical notions of propriety were something that would take some getting used to, and he narrowly resisted the urge to snarl at her crew to keep their damned eyes to themselves.

“ _Our_ cabin. Come on, Sir James,” she said, tugging on his hand as she made her way back towards the cabin. “Let’s go back to bed.”

Gladly he followed, the echoes of catcalls and laughter behind them. He realized he would follow this woman to Hell itself, so long as she smiled at him in that bewitching way.

Hopefully, Shipwreck Cove was a little less sinister than all that.

 

**XXX**

 

The lovers lounged about in their berth for some time, spent from lovemaking once more. James was so careful with her this time, and he apologized profusely for the night before. “God, I was so rough with you last night. Forgive me.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “ _We’re_ fine.”

“You’re certain?”

“Quite. In fact, I rather liked it.”

She kissed his forehead, knowing she would have to get used to his fussing in the months to come. The _years_ , even. It still seemed so surreal. Was this _fine man_ really who she would spend the rest of her life with? She found that she very much hoped so. Every bone in her body _longed_ for that security, and it was a wondrous thing.

She’d never known love before that she did not also have to _fight._

James interrupted her train of thought once more, his fingers gliding over her hair in a way that made her shudder. “Out of curiosity…how is my presence going to be taken at Shipwreck Cove?”

Elizabeth smiled. It was a valid concern for a man who had spent most of his life vanquishing pirates, to wonder how he might suddenly live among them. “The residents of the Cove are a practical lot,” she assured him. “I have already told the crew that you were a willing accomplice in our coup of the fort. Word will spread quickly through the Cove that the Scourge of Piracy has changed sides once we dock.”

Clever as a fox, was Elizabeth. She knew her word and her love would not quite be enough to vet his reliability to her subjects. But a tale of his willing ruin of his career for the love of their King certainly was.

“You’ve thought of everything, Pirate King.”

“Hmm. Comes with the territory,” she said sleepily, settling deeper into his shoulder.

“You are quite _convincing_ when you need to be.”

Elizabeth paused at the note of vulnerability in his tone. She was a woman who lived by her wits and her tricks; who could blame him for wondering? “James,” she said, sitting up on his chest. “I will make you a promise.”

His eyebrows lifted high upon his brow, for it was the last thing he’d expected. “Oh?”

“I will _never_ lie to you again. If we cannot trust each other, this won’t work. That is one thing I do know about love. I regret what I put you through, and it won’t happen again.”

James nodded, pressing his lips. Perhaps it was foolish, but he _wanted_ to believe her. More than anything, he wanted to believe her.

And so, he did.

He shifted her so that she lay on her back, his long body curled around hers. His hand strayed to her belly, long fingers splaying over her womb. She laughed joyfully for his fascination. It was the _umpteenth_ time he’d done this in the past hour. “You can’t _feel_ it yet,” she teased. “ _I_ can barely feel it, except when the little bugger makes me lose my breakfast in the morning.”

“Are _you…happy_ about this development?”

“At first I was furious,” she admitted. She’d always taken such _pains_ not to conceive a child. This was not a world she ever thought she should bring a babe into. She’d always made use of herbs and carefully counted the days of her cycle besides. After the first night they made love she’d insisted James make a gentleman’s finish in the sheets, but it seemed the first night had been the charm. “And scared. More scared than I’ve _ever_ been. But now…” She reached up to touch his face, the angle of his brow and his straight patrician nose. She’d never had a mate who she trusted so _steadily_ , as she did James Norrington. He would be a good father. She knew it with utmost certainty, and there was freedom in that knowledge. “Now I am scared witless _and_ excited to have this adventure with you.”

James sighed with relief, leaning into her hand upon his cheek. She pulled him down into a kiss, and they did not stop kissing until a bellowed cry from the crow’s nest echoed all the way into their cabin: “SAIL HO!”


	18. Hoist The Colors!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Artemis faces one more enemy on the high seas.

**XVIII**

 

The lovers dressed quickly and made their way topside. Elizabeth lifted her glass to find an unwelcome sight making straight for them: Fitzwilliam’s ship _The Mako._ Wordlessly she handed the glass to James so that he may see the threat for himself. Uncharacteristically he uttered an oath under his breath.

“She has us on the lee,” said James gravely, meaning they were downwind from _The Mako_ and at tactical disadvantage.

“I know.”

“And she outguns us by at least ten, if I remember correctly.”

He did, of course, and Elizabeth sighed. “Indeed.” For the first time in her life she was not _eager_ to enter a fight. She very much would rather honor that most noble of pirate traditions, and _run._ But the Mako would only follow them all the way to the Cove, and it simply would not do.

“You should get below,” said James, instantly raising Elizabeth’s hackles.

“I think you are forgetting who has command of this ship. I will _not_ be put away like a doll.”

James’ voice remained calm on the surface, though he churned uneasily underneath. “He does not yet know of our coup, but if Fitzwilliam spots your _distinctive_ golden head the game will be up, my Pirate King. However, if we give the appearance that we are still a _Navy_ ship up until the very _last_ moment…”

Elizabeth immediately picked up his train of thought, and a rather wicked smile overtook her fine features. “Oh, _darling,_ you’re thinking like a pirate already.”

The sight of her smile all for him sent a thrill of pleasure from his head to his toes. How easily she led him down the primrose path… He knew an echo of uneasiness that was quickly quashed by newer priorities. There was nothing for it. He’d made his choice, and that choice was _her_ , and their unborn child. This meant he would sink _The Mako_ to the bottom of the sea without batting an eye, if that was what keeping them safe required.

“Signal Hornigold to fall back,” he advised quietly, his quick mind moving at twenty knots. “And there are too many people on these decks for a proper watch. Also, we shall require the flag chest. Fly the red ensign. Did Grey leave any spare uniforms? Find someone about his height and build and we shall put my wig and a blue coat on him.”

Though she was captain here, Elizabeth could acknowledge James outweighed her maritime experience by more than a decade. And though perhaps their ruse would _seem_ piratical, the navies of England, Spain and France played these little visual tricks upon each other _all_ the time. Immediately she began barking orders, flying down the steps of the quarterdeck in a haphazard way that made him _flinch_.

She summoned her quartermaster and the master gunner to her cabin for a council of war. “Look in the armory for any chain shot,” she ordered. I want half our guns aimed high for her sails, and the other half low for the waterline. We will get but _one_ chance to take _The Mako_ unawares, and I want it to be a _nasty_ fucking surprise.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

Their false Captain Grey was suitably adorned and stationed up on the quarterdeck. Two more blue coats and wigs were acquired from the smaller cabins, which were bestowed to men who received them with wolfish smiles, highly amused to be playing Royal Navy Lieutenants. The decks were cleared of all but the necessary watch, and _The Artemis_ made a tack that would bring them in intersection with the Mako all the faster.

Elizabeth watched it all from the open door of her cabin, just out of sight, leaning upon the doorframe with arms crossed over her chest. James stood sentry just behind her, watching _the Mako_ grow larger and larger on the horizon. A predatory smile curled her full lips; moments like this were what she _lived_ for. And yet also there was a coil of fear nestled in the pit of her belly; something new for her on the eve of a battle. She realized that before she’d had very little fear of death at sea. She knew the Ferryman after all. But now, everything had changed. So much more was at stake, and she reached behind her to take James’ hand.

Sensing her uneasiness, James stepped closer, the line of his body a solid comfort behind her. “The plan will work, Your Highness,” he tried to assure her. “Fitzwilliam is too much of an unimaginative egotist to think anyone but Grey commands this ship.”

Elizabeth nodded, surprisingly grateful for these words of comfort. Such bolstering of morale was a luxury she’d never been given before. She walked such a fine line as Pirate King and Captain; to show any such weakness to her crew would have been the same as offering them her throat.

“I trust my men. If there is a tinker’s chance in Hell of pulling this off, they will do it.” She truly believed that, and James squeezed her shoulder in answer. They said nothing more until _The Mako_ drew up beside them, seemingly unawares, all her gun ports closed.

“Where the fuck have you been?” boomed Fitzwilliam’s voice through a speaking horn.

There was a moment of terrible silence that weighed upon them, as Fitzwilliam and the Makos looked over _The Artemis_ and realized something was off. Then Elizabeth stepped from the cabin, wanting Fitzwilliam to see her and know that _she_ was responsible for the havoc about to take place. Shock, then pure rage, made their way across Fitzwilliam’s features. He opened his mouth to fling an order but it was lost as she bellowed, “ _FIRE_!”

The order was repeated across the ship. _The Artemis’_ gun ports flew open and her cannons were brought to bear, loaded with chain and twelve pounders as the King had ordered. There was a deafening _boom boom boom boom_ that shook the air, the ship, and the bones of every man present. There were screams and shouts, and the ringing of ears that the concussion of cannon fire always left in its wake.

 _The Artemis_ continued to glide past through the cloud of blue smoke, and Elizabeth ran to the aft windows to survey the damage upon _The Mako_. Her sails were in tatters, the foremast cracked midway, and a red-faced Fitzwilliam screamed orders and cursed across the deck. Half his face was a mask of blood; it appeared shrapnel or a splinter had caught the Captain in the blast. A flurry of men raced for the hold, presumably to man the guns and try to get off a shot.

But with every crucial second that passed _The Artemis_ drew further and further away.

Even more gratifying, Elizabeth noticed that _The Mako_ was listing to port, and as she rose on a wave Elizabeth could see several very large holes punched in her hull, just at the waterline.

There would be no pursuit.

It would take everything _The Mako_ had just to try to patch those holes, or face sinking in the middle of the sea. Elizabeth let out a whoop of triumph and turned to plant a wet kiss upon James’s lips. He seemed almost startled by the onslaught of affection, and Elizabeth paused to regard him, afraid he may have regretted throwing in with pirates now.

“They will sink,” he predicted, and she found she could not read his flat tone.

“They may.”

He pressed his lips but nodded with approval. They would pack in their lifeboats, and surely a passing merchant would pick them up. This was a busy channel. “Well done, Your Highness.”

She affected a humble bow, though inside her heart erupted with warmth for his approval.

“We’ll be having extra grog tonight, boys!” bellowed the Pirate King upon exiting her cabin, winning cheers of approval from her crew. “Shall we hoist the colors in farewell to our friend Fitzwilliam?”

“Aye!” agreed her men, and their very own flag was extracted from the chest. It was a black banner that depicted a Pirate King’s coat of arms: a crowned shield bearing a skull and bones, flanked by two swans rampant. A banner at the bottom declared the motto _WHERE WE WILL WE’LL ROAM._ The red ensign was taken down, and as the black flag was raised high her crew laughed and cheered and shouted jeering taunts back towards _The Mako._ Rude gestures were exchanged. _The Mako_ attempted to get off a couple shots with her bow chasers, but they fell short of _The Artemis_ by several yards.

It may as well have been a mile.

The celebrating pirates clapped each other’s backs and Elizabeth ascended to the quarterdeck, watching _The Mako_ disappear through her glass. It grew smaller and smaller not only for the distance they put between them, but also because the ship appeared to be sinking, _fast_ beneath the waves _._ Elizabeth hoped her captain would be eaten by his ship’s namesake.

“He shall get a court martial for that, at least,” said James at her back, referring to Captain Fitzwilliam’s loss of _the Mako_. “To be a fly on the wall in _that_ captain’s cabinet, eh?”

Elizabeth smiled, but refrained from admitting she’d just wished a much nastier fate on their friend Fitz. “He shall have plenty to answer for, I am sure,” she said. “We left quite a mess for him in Nassau.”

James chuckled a little at the thought. _A mess_ was putting it lightly, to say the least. But for once, he was quite content to let someone _else_ clean it all up. His Pirate King siddled closer, and he was happy to wrap an arm about her shoulders, holding her close.

“You were brilliant today, James,” said Elizabeth. “I am a lucky woman to have you on my side. Thank you.”

“I will _always_ be on your side, Elizabeth,” he assured her, and in answer she cuddled closer still. Together they watched the sinking of _The Mako_ until she disappeared beneath the waves completely.

The song of the Brethren erupted amongst the proud crew, an infectious joy inherent in their singing. At long last, these pirates were homeward bound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. I'm no expert in semaphore, but as far as I can tell from my research the "red ensign" was the flag the Royal Navy would have flown in the Caribbean at this point in history.  
> II. If a Navy captain lost a ship they would face a court martial no matter the circumstances, to determine if the captain had been negligent in his duty or overly reckless. Usually they were acquitted, but I think the Admiralty would have thrown the book at Fitzwilliam on this one. ;)  
> III. The graphic at the top of the chapter is my rendition of the Pirate King crest, which I'm sure you can tell is a mix of pirated clip art and my own doodling. :)


	19. A Hero's Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The King and her consort return to Shipwreck Cove.

_The Artemis_ and _The Marion_ received a hero’s welcome at the docks of Shipwreck Cove. What appeared to be the whole population of the city surged out to greet the new arrivals, and James felt pangs of guilt as he witnessed family after family reunited. Children ran into their father’s arms, and tearful wives embraced their mates. These were families that _he_ had initially torn apart with his threat and his pardons, and though he’d only been doing his duty, he was not immune to their suffering.

As though she knew very well what he was thinking, Elizabeth clasped his hand in hers, squeezing his long fingers in a gesture of solidarity. “You’re one of us now,” she said quietly between waving to the crowd. “All’s well that ends well.”

Elizabeth saw that _The Artemis_ was properly moored and make arrangements for lodging for Jengo and his wife. After the completion of these duties Elizabeth and James descended the gangplank to the docks, and a large woman rushed over to Elizabeth, picking her up off her feet in a bear-hug embrace. “You did it!” exclaimed the woman. She repeated this several times over in disbelief, rocking Elizabeth back and forth enthusiastically with every word.

Elizabeth just laughed at this manhandling, patting the woman on the back. “I _told_ you I would bring your lout of a husband home to you, Molly,” she teased, breathless for the air having been squeezed right out of her. “You didn’t believe me?”

Molly only laughed joyfully in reply with tears in her eyes, and then went to rejoin her husband and three children. Arm in arm they walked down the dock towards Shipwreck City.

Elizabeth turned back to James with a wide smile, who appeared a little shocked by the lack of decorum. And yet there was such _warmth_ in the exchange, and he reckoned he understood why Elizabeth would prefer such human interaction to the rules of society under which they had been raised.

“May I give you a tour of your new home, Sir James?” posed Elizabeth, offering her arm to her lover.

Rather than take her arm James reached up to touch her face gently, his fingers stroking the curve of her cheek. Only _now_ in this moment did he understand the true magnitude of the undertaking she’d devised, and what _heart_ it took to pull it off. She called these pirates _her people,_ and he could see that as any monarch should, she truly loved and cared for her subjects. He did not know why that had not sunk in until just now, but in that moment he grasped it _all_. “You are a _marvel_ , Elizabeth Swann,” he said, so moved by the welcome they had received here. _The Dauntless_ had never enjoyed such popularity in any port, that was for damned sure.

She smiled warmly for the praise, but raised an eyebrow in question to his sudden sentiment.

“It’s not such a thankless job, being King of Pirates,” she teased.

“So I see.” James threaded her arm through his. “So, Your Highness. What would you like to show me first?”

Elizabeth bit her lip a little, quite moved by the sparkle in his emerald green eyes. “I think I want to show you my rooms,” she confessed, a heat in her lovely brown eyes that made his knees weak.

“I wouldn’t object—”

She tugged him forward, interrupting his sentence.

As they wove through the crowd making their way down the dock James couldn’t help but notice another rather distinctive ship that was also moored, with sails black as pitch and planking singed almost the same shade. Elizabeth pointedly did not look at _The Pearl_ as they passed, her eyes determinedly fixed straight ahead, though her grip upon his arm tightened almost painfully. But they saw no sign of Jack Sparrow as they walked, and it was probably for the better. James had watched Elizabeth load that second pistol earlier that day, and knew both firearms tucked in her sash were primed to fire now.

 

XXX

 

They had not made it to her rooms in any timely fashion, for the King was stopped in the town every ten steps to receive an enthusiastic congratulations or a sincere _well-done_. A seemingly ancient pirate in a red coat who bore a weathered resemblance to Jack Sparrow had clasped Elizabeth in a fatherly embrace, clapping her back but saying nothing, before ambling on his way.

James had marveled at the architecture of Shipwreck City as they wound through the narrow alleys, staring up at the seemingly precariously stacked carcasses of ships, galleons frigates and brigantines, one on top of another to create towering living spaces. “How does it not _fall down?_ ” he exclaimed, to which Elizabeth had laughed.

“Some of the best shipwrights in the world live here in the Cove,” she said. “It takes some work, but they’re surprisingly solid.”

Eventually they had managed to wend their way through the city to her dwellings, winding their way up the stairs until they reached the tower she called home. She had not lied; these rooms were filled with light and color, books and tapestries and curiosities from all over the world. The feature that seemed to interest her most was the massive carved wooden bed, which she pulled James into with mischief in her eyes. They made love tenderly—and then not so tenderly—and then slept—for most of the rest of the day.

At nightfall there had been a massive feast thrown in the Great Hall, and every pirate of the Cove was invited to join. There were many toasts to Hornigold and the Pirate King’s success in returning the prisoners, and more than a few wry looks shot James’ way when Elizabeth made a dramatic retelling of the events of the their final escape, throwing James in a much more favorable light than he felt he deserved. If only they _knew_ how perfectly she’d taken him in…there would be no end to the ribbing, and his safety there would have _never_ been secured, King’s consort or no.

After the feast Elizabeth took James’ hand and led him back to the winding staircase of her tower. They did not stop at her rooms, however, but kept climbing up up up, until they found themselves seated in the crow’s nest of the galleon in which she lived. The view was _breathtaking_ ; lanterns glittered in windows below, and the sea beyond that took on a quicksilver hue beneath the moonlight’s caress. Faintly they could hear the crashing of the waves below.

“Are you sure this is safe?” said James, gripping the railing rather hard as a gust of wind whipped over the antique galleon, making the mast creak.

Elizabeth chuckled a little, scooting closer. She was wearing a very fetching black dress in the Chinese style she favored, her eyes darkly outlined with kohl. She looked utterly fierce, but _so_ beautiful, and James supposed at last her outward appearance nearly matched what she was within.

“Why James, I thought you _liked_ high places for this sort of thing?”

James raised an eyebrow questioningly. “And _what_ sort of thing might that be, Your Highness?”

“Well…there’s something I want to ask you.” Elizabeth lifted his arm so that she might sneak beneath it, tucking herself snugly into his side. “You see, though I am a _King_ and as fierce a pirate that ever sailed these seas, it has come to my attention that there is _one thing_ I have not yet achieved.” All this was delivered with the cheekiest of smiles, and James could suddenly hear his pounding heartbeat echoing in his ears.

Taking a shaky breath, he attempted not to grin from ear to ear like a simpleton. “And pray what might that be?” he asked coyly, playing her game.

She kissed him gently, sending a thrill through his body, all the way to his toes. “Marriage to a fine man,” she answered above his lips, and he could not stop himself from kissing her quite a few more times before giving a reply.

“Are you asking for my hand, Pirate King?”

That self-satisfied smile returned, and the moonlight in her eyes was the most _beautiful_ thing he’d ever seen. “I am, Sir James. Would you do me that vast and covetable honor?”

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently tracing the curves of her cheeks. He’d never envisioned this moment going quite this way, but by now he should have known better than to think he could predict life with Elizabeth Swann. “I dare say _nothing_ would please me more, Elizabeth.”

The moon rose high in the sky, and then began to sink again, before they climbed back down from their love nest in the foretop of the Cove. As it turned out, the antique carpentry was _very_ sturdy indeed.


	20. A Royal Wedding

There were no priests or parsons or other religious figures in the Cove. Elizabeth reckoned that organized religion only created strife, not to mention a rival to her power, and so any attempts to establish a church were quietly sent on their way. More to the point, her pirates were all too happy to navigate according to their own Code over the guesswork that was man’s interpretation of the word of God. For these reasons, the Keeper of the Code, Captain Teague, officiated this unlikely union a month after Elizabeth asked James to be her husband.

James wore a smart black coat for the occasion, with golden piping at the cuffs and buttons. He’d seemingly abandoned his wig in his new home, letting his dark hair grow, and even sported the scruff of a beard that did untold mischief to Elizabeth’s insides every time she looked at him. Elizabeth defiantly wore blue with the pearls James had procured for her so long ago, and braided white frangipani flowers in her hair. Never had she looked more beautiful to James, as in that moment with her hands clasped in his while they spoke their vows. They exchanged poesy rings with the inscription engraved within _My love to thee shall endless be._

Afterwards, Shipwreck Cove threw a party the likes of which they had not seen since the defeat of Cutler Beckett and the East India Trading Company. A royal wedding did not happen every day, and all the subjects of the cove joined in the merriment. They feasted and feted, and wished the newly-weds well.

Later in the evening James watched Elizabeth fondly from his place at the head table as she mingled in the crowd of her people, receiving hugs and claps on the back from her friends and subjects, teasing ribbings and congratulations. Animatedly she spoke with several people, telling stories of her adventures in Nassau no doubt, making gestures that perhaps pantomimed her duel with Grey that would have left him marred for life, had he not met such a decisive end on the deck of _the Artemis._

James thought nothing of it, until a lad tugged on her dress and whispered something in her ear, causing her to frown. With a troubled expression she wound through the crowd and disappeared from the Great Hall. James warred with himself for a long few seconds, torn between letting her handle her own business, and curiosity for what could have caused such a dark expression on this joyous day.

In the end, he followed her, trailing glimpses of pale blue skirts around corners until she arrived at a sort of balcony, a ship’s deck precariously repurposed as a lookout over the rest of Shipwreck Cove below. A dark figure awaited her by the gunwale, and James’ heart fell in his chest as he watched her tentatively approach him.

Jack Sparrow took a step forward into the lantern light, that infuriatingly deprecating grin curling his lips. James felt his hand curl into a fist just at the _sight_ of it. But rather than burst onto the scene as an indignant bride-groom interrupting a back-alley liaison, James ducked behind the corner, watching the exchange with a heavy heart. Somehow he knew his entire future with Elizabeth rested on the events about to unfold before him, and he _prayed_ she’d not made a perfect fool of him again.

“Well well,” said Sparrow. “If it ain’t the pirate who took Nassau with only _one_ shot fired. Nice try, darlin’, but I still hold the record.” He wagged a bejeweled finger, the emerald flashing green fire in the lantern light.

“I may have taken Nassau with one shot, Jack, _but_ I did it with an unloaded pistol,” she countered with a secretive smile, causing Jack to frown at the piratical koan. He seemed to puzzle this out for a few moments before waving it off, shaking his head with a fond smile that glinted gold. “I’m surprised to see you here,” Elizabeth ventured, her tone almost _fragile_ compared to her usual steadfast confidence. “I didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

Jack’s smile faltered for a moment, but that single moment told _all_. “’Spose there’s only so much flogging a man’s heart can take, love.”

Elizabeth frowned, her posture straightening defensively. “And where is _your_ latest conquest? I can’t imagine Miss Mearde would like you stealing off to the shadows to speak with the likes of me.”

Jack’s mouth twisted as though he had a nasty taste in his mouth. “I’m afraid _Miss Mearde_ has been detained on a desert island just south of _La Florida,_ ” he ground out. “Wily wench tried to instigate a mutiny against me when I wouldn’t give her an extra share of our treasure.”

Elizabeth tried, but in the end she could not suppress a cat-like smile. “Hmm. A lesser woman might say you deserved that…”

Jack sighed, rolling his eyes theatrically. But his voice was soft when he admitted, “Aye, I deserved it, Lizzy.”

 _Lizzy._ The familiar nickname—and the tone with which it was spoken—ground on James’ _every_ nerve, and he clenched his fists in his effort not burst from his hiding place and put it in Jack’s teeth.

With a heavy sigh Elizabeth looked up at the stars, the length of her long neck bared enticingly. “Why _are_ you here?” she finally asked, sounding very _tired._

“Had to wish you happy, didn’t I?”

“Did you?”

Jack frowned then. “ _Are_ you happy? _James Norrington_? Never could have guessed that one would tickle your fancy in a _million_ years, love. Thought ye might have caught a touch of the jail fever to make a choice like that.” He said his rival’s name with such disbelief and disdain, and James found himself holding his breath as he awaited Elizabeth’s answer.

In answer, Elizabeth posed a smile like a baring of teeth and laughed out loud. It was a sound clear as a bell, full of joy. With hands on her hips in a defiant pose she said, “Funny, he shows the same distaste when speaking of _you_.”

Jack crossed his arms, still awaiting her answer.

Her smile did not fade, but changed to something softer. “He does make me happy, Jack. Happier—” She stopped herself mid-sentence, realizing what a blow it would be to say such a thing to her former lover. But the unsaid hung in the air.

_Happier than I’ve ever been._

Jack was a master of hiding his emotions, and only for a _moment_ was it clear that the blow struck home, before the pirate covered his pain with a sly grin. “Well then. Never thought ol’ Norry had it in ‘im. Good for you, love. I’m glad, then.”

Elizabeth sighed, hugging herself against a non-existent chill in the balmy Caribbean night. “Jack…” The silence drew on for a long time, in which neither Sparrow nor Elizabeth seemed able to move or speak. Finally she managed, “I do hope that we can remain friends. I haven’t told anyone yet, but you’re going to be an Uncle, you know.”

It didn’t seem possible, but Jack’s expression somehow simultaneously fell and brightened all at once. “Got one in the oven, eh? Well that’s interesting...” Gold flashed in his grin once more. “And you’re happy about that too, Pirate King?”

Elizabeth nodded, and there was no doubting the sincerity of her joy as she said, “ _Yes_ , very happy.”

“Hmm. I thought I might have seen that tell-tale maternal glint in your eye once or twice. Well, better him than me, that’s for sure.”

Elizabeth scoffed, a thread of hostility returning to her words. “Truer words were never said.”

Jack flashed a quick smile, and even James could see it was a thin veil for the man’s hurt.

“Well. Congratulations, love. May I kiss the bride?”

James clenched his jaw so hard it was a wonder his teeth did not crack.

“No,” Elizabeth scolded. “But you may embrace her.”

Elizabeth walked into arms held wide, her slender form engulfed in a tight squeeze. Only with her unable to observe him did Jack allow the pain to show openly in his expression, his head resting on top of Elizabeth’s, and James _almost_ felt sorry the fool.

Almost.

Elizabeth drew back, and accepted a kiss upon her forehead without protest.

“So this is really _it_ , then.” _It,_ of course, meaning _them, done._ Even after his last betrayal, Jack had still been unable to completely believe that Elizabeth might not take him back again. But now, he understood all too well.

“I fear so, Jack.” She held up her ring finger, the poesy ring flashing in the lantern light.

_My love to thee shall endless be._

“I made a promise today that I intend to keep forever, and happily so.”

At hearing that James’ heart swelled in his chest, so filled with love and relief that he did not know how he could contain it all.

The pirate nodded in understanding with a rueful smile, and retreated back a step, holding up his hands in surrender, thoroughly defeated. Without another word he chucked her under the chin, and turned to disappear over the edge of the gunwale. It looked like magic, but James knew the pirate had undoubtedly been planning the dramatic exit all along.

Elizabeth turned to go back inside, and James did not try to hide or pretend he had not been watching her. She found him standing in the middle of the dark hallway, an expression of surprise and love written upon his noble features.

She had the grace to look a little sheepish, almost expecting him to be angry that she’d sneaked off into the shadows on their wedding day. But James was not unaware of the strength it took for Elizabeth to send Jack on his way, and was certainly not unmoved by the words she’d spoken of him.

“He’s gone,” she said quietly, and James knew that she meant more than just tonight.

“And you are pleased with your choice?” He couldn’t help but give her one more opportunity to declare her true heart, if it lay anywhere other than him. He _had_ to know.

“Ecstatic, James.” She filled his arms and hugged him _hard,_ holding on to the man who was now her rock in every storm. After a long embrace she craned her head to him, wordlessly entreating her groom for a kiss, which gladly he granted.

“I think I would like to retire to our rooms now, my dearest _husband_.”

_Husband._

Of all the ranks and titles James had ever held, _that_ was the one that filled him with the greatest satisfaction. He kissed her again, his love for this woman filling him from head to toe.

“I think that can be arranged, my dearest _wife_.”

Arm in arm, they returned to the Great Hall to give their thanks and farewells before retreating to enjoy their first night together joined as man and wife.

 

XXX

 

The newlyweds scaled the long staircase to their tower, leaning on each other heavily and laughing about the things they had seen at their reception. Pirates made for interesting party guests, and there was never a dull moment, that was for damn sure. At the last stretch of stairs James swept Elizabeth up into his arms, winning a giggle that was one part rum and three parts pure infatuation. “Darling, these stairs are so steep! It’s not really necessary…”

James frowned playfully down at his bride, and began the climb. “You think me too old to bear my bride across the threshold?” he teased, winning another bout of laughter.

“Of course not, my love. I only thought to spare you the burden of my burgeoning figure.”

James raised an eyebrow. She was beginning to develop the slightest baby bump, which he loved to kiss and place his hand over, imagining he could feel their babe growing inside. However, it hardly affected her _tonnage_ just yet. “I think I will manage,” he assured her with a smile. “I have waited _far_ too long for this moment, to let it pass by.”

Elizabeth smiled and bit her lip, the way she did when she was thinking impure thoughts. James knew this now, and highly anticipated the following result. Elizabeth settled in his arms and rested her head in the bend of his neck, feeling so perfectly secure in her husband’s grasp. It was a rare and beautiful feeling for the Pirate King, to be sure. She’d never trusted _anyone_ so implicitly, as she did James, now. Some might have called her a fool, but she didn’t think so.

Just this once, she didn’t think so.

Elizabeth helped with the latch, and James stepped through the doorway with a rather triumphant smile. She reached up to touch his lips lightly, and he kissed the tips of her fingers. James did not put her down until they reached the bed, and then he did so amidst a long lock of lips.

“I have to ask you again if this is real?” he jested, and even in the shadows Elizabeth knew he smiled.

She laughed joyfully in reply. When was the last time she had laughed this much? Not for a long _long_ time. “I feel the same way,” she told him. “I feel…like you’re too _good_ not to be a dream.” Elizabeth still could hardly fathom _why_ a man like James Norrington held her in such high regard.

He kissed her in reply. “I’m not _that_ good,” he protested. Still, after everything, she seemed to think he was a saint. But he knew otherwise. “I _am,_ however, madly in love with you. And I always will be.”

Elizabeth bit her lip again, and began to pluck at the buttons of his tunic. “Take this off,” she demanded, and her groom shrugged out of his coat, tossing it onto a chair. She made short work of the tunic herself, and sighed when she could run her hands over his lawn-clad chest uninhibited. She reached up to cup his face in her hands, stroking his dark beard that was peppered with silver. He looked simultaneously distinguished and perfectly roguish. “I like this,” she purred for the umpteenth time. “I might forbid you from shaving ever again.”

James laughed at the inevitable disaster _that_ would prove. “A royal decree regarding my facial grooming?” he teased. “That seems like an abuse of power, Your Highness.”

“I’ll show you an abuse of power,” she countered with a sly smile, greedily running her hands under his shirttails to find the flesh beneath. He groaned as her hands roamed over his abdomen and ribcage, pausing to trace the indentations left by his scars from long-ago battles. Then her hands strayed lower, grazing the bulge that already strained against his breeches. She teased him, tracing his length lightly through the fabric, her knowing smile widening as she knew she had him in her thrall.

“You never play fair, Pirate King,” he ground out, turning her so that he could reach the laces of her dress. He could feel the curve of her cheek as she smiled, his lips trailing down the length of her neck as deftly he worked the laces of her gown.

“I think you would be bored if I did,” she theorized.

The incredulity of _boredom_ and _Elizabeth_ in the same sentence made James chuckle. “Never,” he assured her between kissing her shoulders and her spine. “I could _never_ be bored with you, regardless.” He managed to free her of her gown and loosely laced corset, leaving her only in her diaphanous silk chemise. “Love of my life.” He nudged her towards the bed until the edge bumped her knees, causing her to sit. He knelt before her, kissing her hands in his. “Mother of my child.” His smile as he looked up to her was beatific. “My beloved wife. There’s nowhere I’d rather be, than here with you.”

Elizabeth felt her heart in her throat for the umpteenth time this past month. It was true that she had worried James might not like life in the Cove, but he seemed to be settling in swimmingly. She supposed that maybe _she_ was enough for him, as he had so adamantly insisted to her that fateful night in his bedroom back in Nassau.

She still didn’t know what she had done to deserve such a fine man. With hands on his cheeks she drew him up into a long and sultry lock of lips, divesting him of the rest of his clothing. He touched her gently, bringing her to the brink of _insanity_ , until she begged “ _Please?”_

Only then did he slide inside her, carefully, _so gentle_ now that he knew about the baby. Sometimes she teased him that it wasn’t necessary yet, but his control never faltered. She drew him close with legs wrapped around his narrow hips. He made her feel so _complete,_ and that was a thing unique unto him. “ _I love you_ ,” she sighed, her face buried in the warm bend of his neck. “I _love_ you. I wish I’d known sooner…”

James drew back to regard her, curious of what she meant by that. Her teeth grazed his bearded chin, and she continued breathily, “I wish I’d known sooner that you were all I needed to feel _whole,_ James. I should have come to free you from Rashid myself, or—”

“ _Shhh_ ,” he told her, kissing her hair, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. It touched him, that she felt their lost time so keenly, and yet he knew one could drive one’s self mad with such thoughts. “I think your timing was _perfect_ , Pirate King. I, for one, am very glad of the way things went.”

She sighed with relief, and said nothing more as they travelled the road to passionate abandon together. Nothing more _intelligible_ , at any rate, for she was quite vocal in her pleasure, as unbridled in lovemaking as in every other aspect of her life. It had been a struggle to be quiet in Nassau, but here in their love nest of a galleon they were free to be as indecent as their hearts desired. Hungrily James watched her beneath him, and when she writhed with that ultimate release he followed close behind her, chanting her name like a prayer.

Later, as she slept in his arms with Luna high in the sky, James studied his bride in the blue light of a moonbeam. Time and again, she proved to be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He fought not to say it again. _Is this real?_ For in his arms he held _everything_ he had ever really wanted. Perhaps this was not the way he had ever dared envision a life with Elizabeth, but he could not deny that in their odd circumstance somehow they had found _perfection,_ and that was more than enough to satisfy him for the rest of his days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A koan is like a contradictory and seemingly impossible riddle, I believe in the Japanese Buddhist tradition. The most commonly known of which is: What is the sound of one hand clapping?  
> *Poesy rings-From the French poésie for poem, were gold rings with inscriptions engraved inside them exchanged by lovers.  
> *Elizabeth “defiantly” wears blue for her wedding, as blue was the color of “Purity” and obviously she don’t fit the bill. ;)


	21. Epilogue: Six Years Later

Elizabeth woke from a semi-restful sleep, her eyes fogged and her limbs heavy.

In fact, _everything_ about her felt _heavy_ these days, she mused with a steadying hand on her belly, as she struggled to sit upright and stand from the bed.

“I swear,” she muttered under her breath, knowing that she waddled as she walked. “After this baby is born if that man so much as looks at me _sideways_ with that gleam in his eyes I will have him in _irons_.”

She leaned against the doorway of their bedchamber, looking into the light filled space that served as their keeping room in the galleon where her family dwelled. Instantly her rancor evaporated for the sight before her.

“Look at my picture, Papa,” demanded Alexandra, their oldest. Her blond braid fell down her back, and green eyes undoubtedly gleamed with some mischief. “See? Mommy’s the King and I’m the Princess and you’re the Queen.”

James’ mouth twisted, fighting a battle with a smile, which he lost badly in the end. “I’m not the Queen, sweeting, it doesn’t work that way. I’m just the Papa.”

Alexandra smiled cheekily, so resembling her mother in that moment it was _uncanny_. “That’s not what Uncle Jack says.”

James’ smile dampened a little, his eyes narrowing. “Well, _Uncle Jack_ suffers from the impression that he is funny.”

“Uncle Jack _is_ funny,” said Alexandra with all the authority a five year old can possibly muster, lifting her chin defiantly. “ _And_ I hope he comes back soon. Last time he visited he brought me a doll but this time I hope he brings me a sword.”

James’ smile returned. “That’s a terrifying thought. You do know, my dear girl, that Uncle Jack has other directives in life other than bringing you presents?”

Alexandra laughed as though her father had just said the _funniest_ thing in the world, and went back to the table to continue drawing. Young Jamie, age two, who sat on his father’s knee, joined in the mirth before returning his fat little fist to his mouth, sucking with gusto. “And where is Jamie in your picture?” asked James wryly. Alexandra often left out her younger brother, no doubt remembering a time fondly when she was the sole recipient of her parents’ and the Cove’s attention.

Alexandra scoffed. “He’s too little,” she explained, as though it should be obvious.

It was then that James noticed Elizabeth standing in the doorway, and he smiled in greeting. Elizabeth’s heart positively _ached_ for how handsome he was in that moment, glowing with such perfect contentment amidst his children. They technically employed a nursemaid, but the girl hardly ever had anything to do, James so relished spending time with his progeny. James accepted the new command of his small but growing crew with great pleasure, and he led them about the cove on adventures daily, to the beach or the market or the library, day trips in their little cutter or even sometimes _the Artemis_ while Elizabeth continued to see to her duties for the Cove.

Alexandra was smart as a whip, and under her father’s tutelage could already read and write. Such intelligence in a child so young was _unnerving_ at times, and when Uncle Jack came to visit her powers were often put to dubious purpose, as was demonstrated in the Great Biscuit Debacle of ’35. (Rather than raid the cookie jar, Uncle Jack incited the robbery of the _whole_ bakery with the help of Alexandra and some of the other island children, _much_ to the dismay of the Pirate King, who had to pay for the whole day’s inventory and was faced with the tricky dilemma of how to explain to her young daughter that stealing was bad, whilst they inhabited an island full of _pirates._ James had watched with a twinkle in his eye, somewhat gratified that for the first time Elizabeth’s selective moral code caused her _some_ difficulty. Jack did not help matters when later he drew young Alexandra aside and assured her that the only thing she did wrong was _get caught._ )

Elizabeth entered the room and glanced down at Alexandra’s picture. It was being modified so that the Princess was now brandishing a wickedly curved sword. A prophetic scribing, no doubt. Terrifying, indeed. With a chuckle she kissed her daughter’s hair, an affection which was barely acknowledged in the girl’s intent focus upon her drawing.

“Did you have a good rest?” asked James, receiving a kiss from his beloved wife.

“Somewhat.” This far along there was no comfortable way to lie down, and Elizabeth was beyond ready to have this baby _out._ Any day now, had said the midwife. Elizabeth stooped to kiss young Jamie’s dark head of hair, receiving an appreciative gurgle and an enthusiastic greeting of _Mamamamaama!_ Slowly Elizabeth lowered herself into the chair beside James, and noticed an opened letter upon the side table. “Who is that from?”

“Our wayward Nephew sends his compliments,” said James, handing Elizabeth the missive. “And the cycle of your corrupt influence is officially complete. Constance gave birth to a boy in May.” Elizabeth smiled impishly; even when she was a girl, her dimples showed only when she was involved in some mischief. James had not noticed the correlation, surprisingly, until the same trait appeared in their daughter, and he knew to beware.

Sheridan had taken Elizabeth’s advice not long after their eventful departure from Nassau, making off with an all-too-willing Constance Dover to the port of Charlestown, where they were married and settled. Luckily for James, the Baron could not express his displeasure directly, if only because he could not find his brother. As far as England knew, Sir James Norrington, first Royal Governor of the Bahamas, had been killed in his efforts to thwart piracy in the Caribbean.

Little did they know…

Sheridan now made a swift business in the colonies selling the Brethren’s smuggled and stolen goods to colonists hungry for merchandise that did not bear the King’s crippling taxes.

As though he could sense her looking at him, James reached for her hand, planting a kiss upon her knuckles. There it was, that telltale gleam, and Elizabeth felt her insides _melt._ “Have I mentioned today how happy I am that you kidnapped me, Your Highness?” asked James.

Elizabeth smiled wryly. “Oh? It was one of my grander schemes, to be sure,” she teased airily. “I am rather pleased with the result, myself.”

James chuckled. “May I remind you of that when the time comes?” he said lightly, glancing down at her swollen belly. “Last time you directed some rather unmentionable threats at my person.”

“Well, our sweet Jamie here was a rather _large_ baby,” defended Elizabeth in a cooing tone, touching the boy’s soft cheek gently. The little boy smiled up at his Mamma, and drooled on her a tad too. One look at her baby boy, and she knew she would do it all over again and more to see him into the world. Sometimes the ferocity of her love for her children even took _her_ aback; as though she was surprised that she could harbor something so strong and _burning_ inside her without scorching to pieces.

“Well, hopefully our little Lydia will be a bit more merciful on her mother.”

“Oh, little Sherry you mean? You lost that bet fair and square, Sir James,” Elizabeth reminded him, laughing.

James huffed, regretting ever making such a bet upon how long England could abstain from war with France with his nephew on such _high_ stakes. He sincerely hoped their next child would be a girl, if for anything not to have to endure Sheridan’s smug smirk the next time they visited.

“We’ll see about that.” James suspected Elizabeth and his nephew conspired against him, _as usual,_ but as far as he knew there was no possible way to influence the sex of a child in the womb.

Alexandra drew her father into a game of dominoes upon the floor, and James decamped to the Turkish carpet, securing young Jamie between his long legs as he played with his daughter. Jamie immediately claimed one of the ivory tiles for himself, putting it in his mouth.

Elizabeth looked down at them with wonder; _never_ could she have imagined such a domestic scene taking place in her keeping room could fill her with such utter contentment _. Just the Papa,_ she scoffed. _So humble._ James was a decorated war hero, a Knight of the Order of the Bath, a man of rare quality, and someday Alexandra would understand. But more than that, James was the _anchor_ of their family. Their rock. Their _heart_. Just when she thought she could not love this man more, she felt her heart expand to the point of bursting, again and again.

James claimed that she had kidnapped him, but Elizabeth wasn’t so sure she herself had not been the kidnapped, what seemed like a lifetime ago in Nassau. His very first act of piracy had been the feat of stealing her heart right out from under her nose. After pulling off _that_ brave and perilous caper, she imagined actually becoming a member of the Brethren paled in comparison. It could be said that James Norrington had been a pirate waiting to happen all along, and Elizabeth couldn’t have been happier for it.

 

 

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Thank you everyone who has followed this to its end!! Your kudos (I’m still debating the plural of that) and comments played such a great part in the drive it took to finish this tome of a fic so quickly! (50k words in one month-maybe I need a life? Nah…) I really can’t thank you all enough!   
> *The Great Biscuit Debacle of ’[17]35 owes a great deal to the brilliant snowbryneich, as does this whole story. Thank you darling! Your comments and acute insights have been such a delight and meant the world to me!  
> *The initial conception of this fic is owed to thepromiseofredemption on Tumblr, whose role play of James Norrington as a colonial governor was what sparked this whole dang thing. She’s great, and I recommend following her on T for a good James fix!  
> *And last but certainly not least, thank you princesspenelopenerfherder, who I know is chiefly a Sparrabether at heart, but still read this and left the most lovely encouragement on every chapter. Thank you darling! You’re the best!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed and thank you kindly for your comments, they make this author's day!!


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